Dead Man Walking
by InsomniacFlaaffy
Summary: 11 years of mental anguish takes its toll on a poor soul and he is given another chance for life but with a twist: to kill Parasites who will come to harm him. Only then will he find peace in his sad life. Cover drawn by the Animation God.
1. Prologue

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

The steady, monotone clicking of the black cat clock attached to the wall on the far side of the room was the only noise that echoed throughout the old flat. Six-Thirty P.M.; the clock read and its ticking droned onwards. Its tail and yellow eyes swayed back and forth with every noise it made.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

Somber, grey clouds passed by the open window nearby. It was as if the moon itself didn't want to appear on this particular night. The light wisp of smoke from a recently lit cigarette rose out of the overflowing ashtray on the windowsill with an empty pack of cigarettes close-by. It would be the last cigarette he would ever light.

"_My name is Russel Hobbs. I live alone in this old two-bedroom flat. I rarely go outside. Some would say it's a lonely life and I guess that's true, but I don't like people's company. Not lately, anyway. I only trust my cats these days and I'll miss them dearly…"_

"_But they will understand, like they always have…"_

Wide, yellow eyes of a spotted cat stared back at him from a distance. Both of the two were silent as they locked their sights on one another. _"Katsu stays with me 'till the end. He watches me, as if he knew…"_

"_Because earlier tonight I swallowed a bunch of pills…"_

"_They're legal, of course. Prescribed by my doctor for my sleeping problems. But I've taken thirty-four of them. All I could find in my cabinet."_

"_Any second now, I will be dead. I feel calm. I'm ready for it. I've only got one thing to say now…"_

"_Thanks for nothing. Goodbye."_

As he faded away, those unwavering eyes continued to stare at him and time marched on.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._


	2. The King Of Maggots

Twilight: a brief moment between day and night. A point in time where both the sun and moon occupy the always changing sky. Some would say Twilight and Purgatory are two sides of the same twisted coin. Two left you in a somewhat empty state when caught in them. Empty and hollow like a dense shell of your former self. Nothing but a cold husk. Or that's how he saw it to be. He was certainly not the most positive human being there was in the world. But, then again, he left the terrible world behind some time ago, it seemed.

He finally did something right for once; ended his miserable life. And now, here he was. Stuck in between two worlds, waiting and thinking. He didn't feel free of relieved like he expected to feel after death. Just pure emptiness.

He rested on his back in the middle of a magnificent field of golden barley and watched the salmon painted sky overhead turn dark blue. The barley swayed back and forth in the warm summer breeze above and all around him. Their wavy movements was almost hypnotic and calming. Yet, he felt worried and on edge. Why should he feel like that? The deed was done and that's that. Regret reared its ugly, grim head a little too late.

For some reason, Russel felt the need to stand to his feet and so he did. The field seemed to stretch for miles in all directions, never-ending it looked like. To the north of his current location, right on the horizon, he could barely make out a building or some kind of shed. He felt strangely drawn to the mysterious building. Maybe it was of some kind of importance to him? There was nothing else for him to lose anyway. He gave up his life and belongings already.

The barley folded and crunched beneath his shoes as he moved forward. Time felt as if it slowed down with each step he made. It couldn't have been several feet he walked and he was already face to face to the shed the used to be miles away. What kind of space-altering magic was being used here?

The shed appeared ancient and weathered on the outside. With chipped paint on its walls, a single cracked window and a tattered, monochrome flag hung high; the place looked hideous and a bit unsafe. A rusty padlock sealed the only entrance to the shed's interior and there were no tools to break off the lock nearby. He was a sitting duck once again. He needed to unlock this door. Something within him urged him to find a way inside. But where would its key be? Another uncertain step to the right and the scenery changed in the blink of an eye.

Colors of the environment had shifted to greyscale. Concrete now replaced the golden fields under him. The world was closed off by walls of cracked concrete which formed a long, underground tunnel around him. Old, abandoned cars and various sizes of debris lined the dim-lit underpass which Russel paid no attention to as he passed by. The only vehicle that retained its colors was an ambulance at the tunnel's exit. Its large size blocked anything from entering or leaving.

Splattered on the vehicle's backdoors was either red paint or dried blood. Russel didn't want to dwell if it was the former or the latter. If he wanted to escape this place, he could try climbing through the ambulance. He tugged on the door handles several times with no avail. The doors were locked like everything else in his life. He cupped his hands over the vehicle's windows and peered inside. The windows was covered in a thick film of dust so he was unable see anything noticeable in the back. Not even a key for the locked shed.

There was nothing left for him here so he turned back towards the metal graveyard. But a loud noise caused him to halt in his tracks. It was the sound of rhythmic tapping of metal on metal behind him which made him turn around.

"Hello?" Russel called out to the source of the tapping: the broken down ambulance. He stepped forward and called out firmly. "Is someone there? Answer me!"

The locked doors rattled once before they swung open. Russel jumped back in shock and fright. His own dead body upon a gurney flew out and stopped front of him. He exhaled loudly. Actually, he expected something far worse than his own body. His steps echoed in the tunnel as Russel took to the right side of the gurney and stared down at his lifeless corpse.

He looked like he was just sleeping peacefully though his chest did not rise. He raised his left hand from his side and rested it upon his dead cheek. His body was cold and stiff to the touch. Why was he inspecting his corpse? Perhaps it was for peace of mind or to make sure everything was still there.

With his index finger and thumb, he opened his closed eyelids. Dark brown irises stared back up at the ceiling in silence. It had been a long time since he seen his natural eye color. He almost forgot what he looked like with normal eyes. His real eyes were the only thing he really liked about himself. Even now, they still shine a little with life. Russel then moved onwards to his mouth. Did death even restore his natural teeth also? He parted his dead lips, only to find a silver key resting on his still tongue.

Russel removed the key from his mouth and stepped away from the gurney. Could this be the key to the shed? He heard the ceiling shift above him, causing dust and bits of rubble to fall. He ran as fast as was able to avoid the falling debris. A support beam rusted by time snapped and the entire ceiling collapsed behind him with most of the tunnel itself. It looked like he wasn't going back there anytime soon. Not that he really wanted to, anyway.

With the greyscale tunnel and his dead body left behind, the gold barley and decrepit shed appeared again. Instead of an annoying padlock preventing his entry into the shed, a bothersome buck blocked his way. The creature lifted his head from the ground and stared back at Russel then trotted away. He didn't have time to deal with a deer right now. He had more pressing matters to like what the hell was in this shed. But the world changed around him yet again when he walked closer.

The shed was no longer there. Only the tarnished metal frame of a rundown car in the middle of a deciduous forest sat in front of him. A mysterious grey fog had settled in around his feet. A raven glared at him from a branch of a dying tree nearby. Its caws were like nails against his eardrums. He hated those feathered rats with wings. The black bird took flight and fluttered pass Russel's face, disappearing deep into the forest.

He could hear the raven's cries echo in the distance. That awful bird was like a crappy metaphor for those terrible memories. Even though one problem was gone, his mind would repeat past events over and over again like a broken record. That's why he took his own life: to get away from those images and memories.

He headed onto the leaf lidded path to his left now. Cracked and weathered gravestones of all sizes bordered the path for what seemed for yards ahead. The forest ended in a clearing with a single tree and a rusty metal building behind it. Another one of Russel's dead bodies hung from the tree by an aged rope tied in a noose around his neck then around the tree's trunk. His large body rocked in the wind then slumped to the hard ground when the rope's knot came undone. Another silver key was suspended as a necklace around his bruised neck. Something about this was getting repetitive. He saw his corpse, he got a key. He found another body, he got another key. Was this some kind of game? Now he had two keys in his pockets and made no progress towards the shed. Could it be possible to return to the field by walking as he did in the tunnel? He had no other choices left.

The fog became heavier as he passed by the same gravestones as before. The forest grew even denser than the first time he came through. A locked iron gate blocked his way now. Rotten heads of goats and pigs were skewered on pikes mounted to the gate's bars. A gruesome display anyone with a sane mind would think. The key he received from his hanging body fitted perfect in the gate's lock and it gave a small click as it unlocked. The doors creaked open and he stepped inside with hesitation. He flinched when the gate slammed shut behind him, locking itself tight.

"Welcome to my home, Russel Hobbs," A man in a white suit no older than Russel himself greeted him with strange fondness. He sat on the steps from the porch of the wooden cabin behind him. He looked familiar, like a friend he had long forgotten in the past. His brown skin seemed to glow in the orange sunlight. The smile he gave Russel was chilling though. It matched his cold, baby doll brown eyes. "I have been waiting for you. Don't you know it's rude to keep friends waiting for so long?"

Russel took a step closer to the strange man. "Who…who are you?" He asked.

The man shrugged. "I used to have a name. When I was more…human but that was so long ago. I go by so many names now. It's kinda hard to choose one." He folded his hands over one another and rested his chin on them. The man asked, "But I'm curious. Who do you think I am?"

Russel answered in a quiet tone, "Death?"

He nodded. "Interesting. Yes, perhaps that's what I am. I come when there's something to take," His smile then turned to a menacing grin. His perfect white teeth shined in the setting sun. "But I never give anything back. I am DOOM, but I'm SALVATION as well. I'm feared by most, yet adored by some also. Some like yourself, Russel…"

"Don't flatter yourself, man," Russel retorted coldly. "I don't even know you."

"Well, that's not quite right. I've been around for a while," He paused as he leaned back to rest his elbows on the stairs. "Keeping you company. Always there, you know? Always there…"

"So I was wrong. You're not Death."

"No, I am not. Perhaps, I'm Life?" He shrugged once more. "But then again, does it really matter?"

"I guess not…" Russel's voice trailed off as he looked at his surroundings. He then asked, "What is this place?"

"This is my humble kingdom and you are my special guest," was the man's answer.

Russel scoffed, "Me? Special? I can tell you now there's nothing special about me."

"Don't put yourself down, Russel Hobbs! You're my guest of honor! Like I said, I have been waiting," The weird man appeared pleased with his presence. It looked like he would have to go along with whatever this guy had to get some kind of answers.

"What happens next?" He asked.

"It depends on you. Inside my house, there are dark hallways that lead to places you don't want to see. But there is also something that will make you want to return to where you came from and cherish every single little breath you take. I'm going to make you an offer, Russel. It's a chance only a fool would refuse!"

"Okay…" Russel said with a heavy sigh. He was getting tired of all these half-assed responses. "An offer? What can you offer me?"

The man stood to his feet and stepped onto the porch. He motioned Russel to follow suit. "Let's come inside. It's getting cold out here."

The wooden cabin had all the qualities as a normal old house would have. The recognizable scent of moth balls, dusty knick-knacks placed here and there, squeaky floorboards; the place wasn't really grand for a person he believed to be Death. He was expecting the house to be bigger and more striking on the inside. Was this a fever dream? Nothing in this place seemed real.

"Now we can talk properly," The man said in the calmest voice as they stood together in the foyer.

"I still don't know who you are…" Russel said, a bit apprehensive.

"I go by many names, as I said previously. I've never paid attention to what the living call me. But there is one name the fallen ones use when I speak to them. I find it most accurate," The man bowed in a very humble manner. "_The King of Maggots_."

"Is that what you are? Why…Maggots?"

"Because they feed on what's dead and gone."

"Dead and gone," Russel repeated and turned his head away from the King. "I guess that's me then. Will I be punished for taking my life?"

"Most people would be but not you. You see, I watched you long enough to understand how you feel. I don't expect you to believe me, but I have sympathy for you."

Russel frowned. He didn't want anyone's sympathy. Why couldn't he just be left alone and die in peace?

The King continued, "Who knows? I could be your own friend! The only friend in the whole, wide world! So like I said, I'm going to make you an offer. I want to help you because that's what friends do. I will give you back your happiness in exchange for a simple task. You will soon forget the sadness that has consumed your heart for years."

"Is there anyone else here?"

The King gave a hearty laugh at his question. Russel could hear the laughter echo throughout the other rooms. And which he replied, "Why? I thought you liked being alone? Isn't that why you ran away from everyone?"

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Russel muttered, "It doesn't matter…"

"I was standing right behind you when you burned all those photographs, you know? I held you in my arms every night you cried yourself to sleep. I SAW EVERYTHING! I know what you want," He out stretched his arms and shook his head. "But it's not here. It's gone and it will never ever come again…"

"What do you want me to do then?" asked Russel defensively. "Or are you here to mock me?"

The King then nodded his head. "Yes, I think it's time to explain. But where are my manners? We're still in the hall. This is not a place for a serious talk! Follow me to the next room. I'll tell you everything you need to know." The King of Maggots disappeared into the room behind him and, just as he was told, Russel followed.

The room was filled with red candles lined up on a table which the King stood by with his arms folded behind his back. Even though the candles' flames were steady, they produced no smoke that Russel could see.

"What's your offer then? What can you fix that Life has destroyed?"

"Russel, death can fix nothing. Even though we are both dead, I am not Death. I might seem just a strange man to you, but I'm just as powerful as the gods. And I chose you." He turned his back to Russel. "I'll need you to go back and face five people. They're not ordinary people. They're special, just like you. Only in a slightly different way…"

Face five people? He wasn't sure what the King was going on about. "Those five people…who are they?"

The King faced twisted with disgust. "The _Parasites_. That's what I call them. They don't know each other but their destinies are bound together. You will have to keep your eyes open and be constantly on guard. Those people will want to get closer to you. They might even pretend they are your friends. But don't let that fool you! They have nothing but cruel intentions. They'll want to kill you. As harmless as they might appear, Parasites are the evil scum of the earth and they all deserve to die!"

"Isn't my life bad enough without them?"

The King turned back to face Russel and smiled oh so sweetly. "Don't be frightened. You will have a great advantage over them. They don't know that YOU know. Do you understand what that means?

All Russel could do was stand there in silence.

"You will become my hunter, serving punishment for their sins. A tool of destruction. A dark angel walking through the river of blood. You'll find your purpose in life when you see for the first time how satisfying it can be."

"But…how will I recognize them?" He questioned.

"There isn't a great deal of people in your lonely life, is there Russel?" The King questioned in a mocking tone. "You will know when you see them." His voice then grew harsh. "Bring those deceitful bastards in front of me and we'll make them regret for everything they've done!"

"Are you expecting me to kill them?" Russel wasn't the type of person to just kill people. He had morals.

The King of Maggots shook his head. "No, Russel. I'm expecting you to fight for survival. To do everything you can to defend yourself. I know you're not a murderer. Quite the opposite, actually. You are a good person. But I also know that you don't want to suffer. And those people will want to cause you pain. They won't hesitate. In the end, you might have no choice. Think of it as gardening. If they were weeds amongst the flowers, you'd pull them out, wouldn't you? You'd get rid of them without thinking twice about it."

"I'm not really a gardening type…but I see your point."

"I'm glad," The King replied, content. "And remember this: you are not their only victim. If you don't stop them, the killing will continue. Innocent people will die. You have the opportunity to make the difference. And the chance to save yourself."

Russel sighed and held his head down low. "Why did you choose me? Aren't you afraid I will let you down, whatever it is have to do? Most days it's enough of a struggle to crawl out of bed. I don't see the point of anything. I just want to disappear. And I hate everyone else because they know how to be happy. Everywhere I turn there are people filled with hope and the will to live or people so pitiful they make me ashamed to be alive. I don't want them. There's nobody there for me, _I am alone._"

"This is the very reason I chose you, Russel," He rested his hand on Russel's shoulder. "I know how you feel…because I felt like this myself for a very long time. You and I are very much alike. If you succeed, you will never feel broken again."

"I can't do this. Dealing with criminals is a job for the police, not someone like me." He said.

"Indeed, you are weak. That's why I've prepared a special gift for you: IMMORTALITY. You cannot die. You will always return to life, no matter what happens to you."

"What?! This is the last thing I wanted! Please, can't you just let me die?" Russel pled.

"I've made the decision. As long as THEY are alive, you cannot die."

"That's damn blackmail! You can't do that!"

"I'm doing it for your own good," The King was beginning to sound more and more like a close-minded parent. "Anyway, you are in no position to bargain with me. You will either go and do what you have to do. Or suffer for eternity, forever unable to find your peace."

"I don't believe you, this is all just a weird dream," he said, breaking his eye contact with the King of Maggots. This had to be a dream. No one could possibly be immortal. Things like that only happen in fairy tales and movies.

The King pointed to the open door to his left. "See this door? Let's go inside." As they entered the door, the two were transported back to the barley field but the wind was blowing harder than the last time. "I want to show you something that will help you make up your mind. Follow me."

A brisk walk through the field lead them to another room. The room that started it all for Russel. His decaying body was stretched over a wooden cross, crucified. That same horrid raven returned again. It landed on the cross and pecked away at his leathery fingers.

"Yes, it's you," The King said in a flat tone. "Come closer. Say hello…"

He shook his head in disbelief. All those horrible memories he hid from for years. The same reason he took his life hung right there in front of him. "I don't want to look at it!" He finally choked out. "Haven't I had enough? That body in the ambulance, then the forest, but this place…This is exactly what I was trying to run from! I don't want to be HERE! Make it go away!"

"I assumed it would be wise to give you a little taste of the suffering you'd endure." The room quivered as the King of Maggots spoke. He faced the soulless corpse and raised his hands towards it. "I want you to understand that you can keep going long after you can't. Russel, it's time to make a decision. The Parasites are coming whether you like it or not. You have to stand up for yourself!"

The roar of thunder boomed through the grey clouds above. The sudden strong gust of wind made Russel shield his face with his arms. Could he really do the bidding of this man and kill people? He wasn't a killer but he wasn't going to say no to a person who could make his nightmares reality. It was either kill these _Parasites_ or stare his own crucifixion until the end of days. It wouldn't kill him again to try, now would it?

"Fine, I'll do want you want." He answered. The wind immediately calmed when the words fell from his mouth. His ears still rang from the passing storm.

The King whipped around to face him and grinned wide. "Excellent! I'm glad you have put your trust in me."

"I…I haven't really got anyone else."

"You shall not regret this, I promise. Lights!" With a clap of his hands, the lights returned to the room and they were back in the room with the smokeless candles.

The King of Maggots stood by Russel's side and rested his hand on his shoulder again. "But there is something else that must be done before you are able to leave…" The swung around to face Russel, he made sure there was no distance between them. Their noses brushed against another as they stared at each other in silence. It's strange; even though their closeness, Russel could not feel any kind of breath from the King. Those brown eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth upturned into a nonchalant smirk, and he held Russel's chin between his thumb and index finger. The King's frigid fingers on his warm skin sent a shiver down his spine. "You cannot leave my kingdom before a sacrifice is made. It's merely a formality as I would put it. The door to your world won't open unless you make a Sacrifice of Soul and Blood." He released Russel and stepped away, waited for his response.

"It doesn't sound good at all…" Russel replied; his sentence trailed off into a quiet mutter as various thoughts came to his mind. A sacrifice of 'soul' and 'blood' didn't seem pleasant or easy.

The King motioned his hand towards the candles beside the two men. "See these candles here? Just blow one out and that's it. Like I said, it's just a formality. Then, on your way out, you will have to shed a few drops of blood. Not much, just enough to open the door. I'm sure you are acquainted with the theory of Equivalent Exchange."

Of course he was but he did not know the King had the knowledge of Alchemy. "How much…exactly?"

"Don't be scared, my friend," The King said as he sat down in the wooden chair behind him then shrugged his shoulders. "It's easy. Anyone can do it. Just a sharp scratch, is that how you use to say it?"

"Fine, I'll do that." Russel replied. "Wish me luck, I guess."

"I do, I really do. When you leave my house, head for the field. That's where you should be." With that said, the King of Maggots waved to him. "Goodbye, my friend. I won't be far, I've never have been…"

The candles' flames danced about as a small draft carried through the old cabin. Like he noticed the first time he arrived here, the candles produced no kind of visible smoke nor appeared to have melted during his time here. Was it really this easy? Just blow out any candle and he would be free to go? It felt like there would be some kind of strings attached or consequences to these candles. Russel braced himself, leaned over the candle and extinguished the fire in a single breath.

"See how easy that was? Now, you've got a job to do." The unnerving voice of the King reverberated in the back of Russel's mind. It seemed like the strange man was right next to him, whispering the most incoherent sentences in his ear. It was like a bug buzzed around his head.

One turn of the silver key and the rusty padlock opened, the broken down shack became accessible.

The inside of the shed was very lackluster, just as it was on the outside. The whole place was uninhabited and dusty, old looking contraption at the back of the building and a symmetrical hole in the wall nearby. The door slammed shut behind him and locked itself, someone or something didn't want him to leave quite yet. So, where was he supposed to do this 'Sacrifice of Blood' stuff the King of Maggots explained earlier? Was he supposed to turn this machine on somehow? _Emergency Power _Switch: Danger, a sign underneath the hole in the wall read. It was dark inside the hole, the heavy stench of iron wafted from deep within the darkness. Russel reached out to the hole but then paused. What was the worst that could happen? Will he lose a finger? A hand? The King did say it wouldn't need a lot of blood for the 'sacrifice'. He lost enough already…

He used his right arm to reach inside and fumbled around for a button somewhere. Russel pressed his body against the cold wall and stretched his arm out to fit the hole's length. His middle finger grazed over something rounded and smooth at the end of the hole.

_SLAM!_

A wedged metal panel emerged at the hole's opening and sliced clean through his arm, right through the bone and leaving nothing but a gushing stump of flesh. Russel's body trembled as he looked down at where his arm used to be, confused as to where he was and what was going on at the moment. His mouth was agape and he attempted to force out screams of anguish but only high pitched squeaks came out.

Through the turmoil, several drops of his blood splatter across the machine. Gears turned and lights switched from red to green. The dirty machine chugged to life and shack's door opened itself to a similar tunnel. He bolted out of the door and down the empty tunnel, stumbling over his feet many times. Disoriented and bleeding violently, Russel kept running forward. He continued until the light at the end enveloped him in its warm grace.


	3. Just a Formality

The doctor glanced over to his wall filled with painting of different canvas sizes and said, "Yes, I do enjoy fine art. Thank you for noticing! There's a certain raw beauty to it that modern painters often fail to recreate. I always wanted to be an artist myself, but it'll be a long time before I can call myself that. I often say that patients are my canvas but my job is more about restoration, obviously. I look at the damage human minds and bring them back to their former beauty…" He paused and brushed his oily fringe out his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm probably boring you…"

He wrung his hands together in anxiousness and stared out the window next to him. "No, it's not that. It's just…" His eyes made contact with the doctor's mismatch eyes. "It's been a difficult couple of days. I'd really like to go home."

"Of course, and go home you will!" The doctor opened one of his desk drawers and retrieved a beige folder from its depths. "As soon as we've done this little assessment, yeah?" He opened the file and flipped through its contents. His eyes darted around as he skimmed over the information. He said without removing his eyes form the folder, "You probably know how it works. I've read here that you used to be a nurse?"

Russel pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "Yes, I know very well how it works." He leaned forward in his seat and held his expressionless façade he had kept up for about 11 years now. "You want to check if I'm nuts."

"Well," The doctor closed the file folder and sat it off to the side on his desk. "I wouldn't use that term. But yes, we have to make sure you're safe and figure out how to help you. Also, as a nurse yourself, you know there's always paperwork involved! These forms won't fill out themselves, you know! This is just a formality."

"The last 'formality' chopped my damn arm off," Russel muttered to himself then said, "Fine. What would you like to know? I will answer all your questions. Then I'll go home, take a long shower and catch up on sleep."

"Wonderful! Let's see then, where do we begin…"

"He's awake, doctor." A female's voice nearby said as he woke from his drug induced slumber. He stared up at the white ceiling from his hospital bed and took deep breaths from his oxygen mask. Russel didn't care to pay attention to the appearances of the two people now in the room with him. He just laid there in silence and listened to the beeping of the heart monitor next to his bed.

A male's voice spoke up in a cheery tone, "Good evening! It's good to see you're awake at last! You're in the Cedar Lake Hospital." The name of the hospital didn't ring a bell to him but then again, he had been near a hospital in years. "My name is Andrew; I'm one of the doctors here. Would you confirm your name for me, please?"

_I don't care who you are. I want to leave this place, _is what Russel wanted to answer but said,

"Russel Hobbs."

"Hello, Mr. Hobbs," Andrew greeted. "It's good to see you're alright. You're on the ward now; your condition is stable. I can see your brain functions are just fine and there is no permanent damage. We've checked your internal organs and they're just fine too. You're a very lucky man. You might experience extreme tiredness and lethargy for a couple of days but that should pass. The nurses on this ward will take it from here."

The sound of footsteps on the tile floor made him believe he was alone again until the girl spoke again, "Would you like me to get you some water? Let me get you a drink. I'll be back in a second." The girl left the room and closed the door behind her. Only the beeps of his heartbeat on the machine next to the bed and the murmurs outside his room kept the silence at bay.

How many days had passed? How long had he been drifting in and out of sleep? Everything seemed like a strange fever dream. Did anything with the King of Maggots even happen?

His hospital bed squeaked underneath him as he sat on the edge of it. It surprised him that a hospital would have a bed for someone of his…generousness. He watched the raindrops slide down the window on the other side of the room. The grey clouds barely let any kind of light into the room.

The door creaked open and a woman came through with a clipboard and a sphygmomanometer in her hands. She couldn't have been any younger than her early twenties. The nurses they hired over the years had gotten younger since he worked in the Union. The girl had fair skin and long charcoal hair that fell a bit pass her small shoulders. Her brown eyes moved about in a worried manner. She had the items pressed close to her chest. The poor girl looked squirrely in her blue scrubs. He kind of pitied the girl. They most likely work the nurses overtime here.

"I'm sorry, Mister Hobbs. Did I wake you?" She asked with a shy smile. Her Welsh accent was thick in her voice. "I have to take your blood pressure. Two seconds and I'm gone, okay? My name is Alanah, by the way. Hi." Alanah appeared by his side and wrapped the cuff around his right bicep. "I'm sorry. I hate bothering people just for this but being a nuisance is part of my stupid job, unfortunately. I hate this place."

"Tell you what, Mister Russel…can I just call you Russel?" She asked but continued before he could even answer. "So anyway, I shouldn't say this but, you know, I'm going to anyway. You're so lucky, it's crazy! You doing what you'd done. And her walking in, seeing what she saw. That was a chance one in a million." Alanah chuckled and sheepishly scratched the back of her neck, "I'm not making any sense again, am I?" then sighed. "I'm tired. They're working us to the bone here, you know? Modern day slavery, I'll tell you. One day I'll tell them what I really think. I swear I will! Ah, there it is."

The young nurse took the cuff off his arm and recorded the numbers onto her clipboard, "You've got the blood pressure of an 18-year old! Just wanted to say you're lucky, I think. And I hope…you've change your mind about some things. Gotta go but I'll see you later. You take care now of yourself." Alanah gave Russel another smile and a light pat on his shoulder then exited the room.

Another day trapped in the hospital passed and Russel laid in his bed. He stared up at ceiling either spacing out, giving a really shitty attempt at sleeping or both. The medical lamp that hung above him became sentient and moved itself to point towards him. It turned itself on. The white light it shined upon him felt hotter than the sun. His skin boiled under the heat. His body didn't respond to any attempts to move. And so he burned until he was nothing more than a charred piece of meat.

He awoke with a startle and sat upwards, resting his head on his knees. Russel took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. It was nothing more than a nightmare. He was about to lay back down but a familiar voice made him look up.

"Bad dream?" It was Alanah. She sat on the end of his bed and looked at Russel with tired eyes.

He hesitated but then answered, "Yeah. A really bad one…"

She said, "I could see as soon as I came in the room that you were having a nightmare. I guess I should've woken you up…What was it about?

"I was burnt alive…"

"It reminds me of something that happened the other day." Alanah replied. "There was this woman on the emergency unit. She really wanted to smoke. But they wouldn't let her, of course. She wasn't well at all. Not just injured, but not right in the head. She was on ten liters of oxygen and had to stay in bed. But she wouldn't listen, and as soon as they left, she lit up a fag…The whole room went up in flames and so did she." Alanah paused and looked down at her hands in her lap with a laugh, "I guess you didn't really want to know that, did you? I never know when to shut up…Typical."

Russel groaned and rubbed his temple in a circular motion, trying to gather his thought. "What was your name again?"

"You probably weren't completely with me when I first told you my name. That's okay with what you're going through." She said as she pushed a few loose strands of her hair behind her right ear. "My name is Alanah but you can call me Ghost like everyone else does."

This had to be the third time he seen her. It was slightly creepy. Each time he opened his eyes, she was there. "You're here…a lot." He mentioned.

"They make auxiliaries do crazy hours here," Alanah explained. "I feel like I've got no life sometimes. I'll be here 'till morning. To be honest, I came here to hide. Don't tell on me, please."

"What happened to me? Who found me?" He asked.

"Well," She stopped then continued, "Ah, yes. Your body went into a coma. You were lucky she came home early and found you, I told you that before."

"Who found me?" Russel asked. His voice was a little more firm this time.

"Your daughter, of course! She called an ambulance. If it wasn't for her, you'd sure be dead now."

"…I don't have a daughter," Russel said flatly. "Whoever she is, she lied."

The girl frowned, "Why would she do that?"

He snapped, "How should I know? I was in a coma, apparently! I was fine, I didn't ask for anyone's help!" Alanah sank away at the sudden loudness in his voice, keeping her distance between them. "Sorry," He said, "When will they let me go home?"

Alanah relaxed and shrugged her shoulders at the older man's question, "I'm not sure. Probably not today, maybe tomorrow?" She narrowed her eyes all of a sudden and crossed her arms over her chest. Her voice got small and quiet. "Look, I shouldn't say this but you seem like a nice person. I feel like I should warn you. There's this doctor here they call _Doctor N_. He's the chief of psychiatry in this hospital. You won't be able to go home until he's talked to you. And he," She paused to find the correct words. "He's really gonna get into your head, you know what I'm saying? He will ask you a lot of trick questions be he's an alright guy. You should trust him enough."

"Doctor…N…?"

"His name is Murdoc Faust Niccals but everyone just calls him Doctor N. He comes on the ward often. Usually late in the afternoon, or in the evening. He intimidates me a little, personally. In this place, you hear all sorts of stories. I don't know what to believe anymore. All I know is that he's always been very friendly and supportive." Alanah smiled, "He actually offered me free weekly sessions. I think I might take him up on his offer. He sees that I'm not happy working here."

"What are they saying about him?"

"Oh, yeah. They say he's a big flirt! Nurses, cleaners, patients; he doesn't care as long as they're wearing a skirt. One girl I knew," Alanah reflected, "Linda, I think. I heard they had an affair. Doctor N knocked her up. They covered in up and quietly got rid of her. He probably paid her money to keep her mouth shut. But I can't really say a bad word about him. Except, he's got a weird smell to him."

Her comment made Russel scoff, "What do you mean?"

"He smells funny. I don't know. Maybe it's just a bad aftershave? Or maybe something he eats?"

"Oh, thanks for the warning. I'll try not to get too close to him."

"Now that I think about it," Alanah had pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them. "There's something else, too. I'll tell you this, Russel. When he starts to talk to you, you just open up and tell him everything. It's very odd. I know I don't exactly hide things from people but he got some really private stuff out of me. And we haven't even started those sessions yet… So be prepared for that."

Russel voice went dead as he said, "Sure but it's a bit late for me to hide how I feel now, anyway. I think I made it very clear when I swallowed those pills…"

The two sat there in silence for what seemed forever. White noise buzzed in his ears. It was maddening for a person who liked music. To block out the white noise, Russel said, "Tell me more about yourself, Alanah."

His words caused the young woman to sit up suddenly, taken aback by his question. "Me? I'm a nobody. I'm just a hard working girl. We all have to pay our bills somehow, right? I rent a room not too far from here. There are two other girls living with me. One is an auxiliary nurse like me but she's always sick. And the other one is a stripper, she's never home night."

"Maybe she works nights also."

"Yeah…" She whispered, "But I don't leave for work wearing red stocking and heels, do I?

"No, you're right," Russel agreed, unaware of the hint of sarcasm in his deep voice. "You're a real nurse, not some man's fantasy of one."

It appeared she didn't notice and continued talking, "I used to do all that for my boyfriend. You know, dress up as a sexy nurse and all. Well, I did it just once, really. He didn't really like it that much. He didn't like me that much either. Broke up with me last Valentines' Day. Of all days, he chose that one. He never told me why but I don't care anymore…"

"I'm tired now. I'm going to get some sleep." He tried his best not to sound rude as hell even though this girl nearly talked his ear off.

Alanah nodded, "Alright. I'll see you again." She hopped up from the bed and smoothed out her clothes. "Be careful who you trust here, Russel. They will be watching you."

"How do I know you're not one of _them_?"

She smiled and said, "You don't. But do I look like a bad person?" Then she exited the room as quietly as she entered.

"We'll start with a little chat about your childhood." Doctor Niccals said while he leaned back in his arm chair. He held a black ink pen and a notebook in his hands. "I want you to be as honest as possible. It's important if we want to get to the bottom of your problem. It's about finding what has caused how you're feeling now and creating a working solution. In order to achieve that, I need to get to know you better. Now let's talk about your parents. What was your father like? Did you two have a good relationship?"

He had no choice but to answer Doctor McCreepy here if he ever wanted to get home. This was going to be a long afternoon. "Yeah, I had a great dad. I have very fond memories of my father. He was always there for me. No matter what I did, he never got angry of upset. I suppose I never gave him a reason to be. I was a good kid. Not perfect, but then again, no one's perfect. Whatever made me…try to kill myself, it definitely had nothing to do with him."

"Where is he now?"

"He died six years ago. Cancer."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Now, let's talk about your mother now." The doctor then said, "What was she like?"

Russel answered immediately, "I can't complain. My mom was great. She brought me up well. Me and her, we were like best friends. We did everything together. She passed away seven years ago. When dad first got diagnosed with cancer, it was too much for her. He kept pretending he was fine but she just couldn't take it. Her heart gave up and she died quickly. My father kept fighting it. Another eight months of illness and chemo finally beat him, though. He thought he was unbeatable but he wasn't."

The doctor nodded as he scribbled in his notebook, "Okay, I'm beginning to get a better picture. That's enough about your parents for now. Let's take two minutes and will talk about something else."

Russel took this time to take a closer look at Doctor Niccals. The man appeared to be middle aged. The lines around of his eyes and rough five 'o clock shadow supported his assumption. The white of his eyes were yellowed along with his long, cracked fingernails. His short, black hair was an unkempt mess like his wrinkled white collar shirt. The bridge of the doctor's nose was bent inwards as if he had fallen on his nose too many times in the past. Maybe he was the type of person to be clumsy? Somehow, the state of his nose still held up the rectangular framed glasses he wore.

"Now I'd like to ask you some questions about your life, Russel." The man's throaty voice threw Russel out of his trance and brought him back to the super boring questions. "You might find them very personal, but it's important that you answer me as honestly as possible."

"Fine," He replied with a heavy sigh, "Let's get it over with then, shall we? I'd like to go home at last."

"Of course. Are you living alone at the moment?"

He hesitated for a moment then responded, "Uh, yeah. I live with a friend. He must be worried sick about me."

"Really?" Doctor N said, raising an eyebrow, "In your suicide note, you claim to live alone."

"Okay, I lied." He admitted.

"You shouldn't be afraid of opening up, Rrrrr-Russel." Said the Doctor, rolling his name through those dumb pointed teeth of his with a smirk. How did Alanah see a friend out of this creeper? Where was this guy's white van? "It's for your own good. We need to figure out where things have gone wrong and how to fix them."

Russel leaned his head against his hand and said, "I'm afraid you'll need a time machine for that, doctor. But fine, I'll be honest."

The doctor went on to say, "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm… in between jobs at the moment." He said. It was difficult to admit it. A grown man unable to get a job because he is too sad? It sounded pathetic. "I'll find something soon but it's been difficult. I feel weak and powerless and tired most of the time. I felt awfully tired."

"Typical depression symptoms. We can give you something for that. You'll feel stronger and motivated."

"I admire your faith in modern medication, doctor," Russel said. "I hope you're right."

"Describe to me how you feel at this very moment."

"I feel fine now," He lied again. "I feel like I want to change my life for the better."

"Why did you try to take your life?"

And there was the million dollar question. There was no avoiding this one with lies. He was going to answer honestly this time. "Nothing was making me happy anymore. There wasn't a single thing that would bring a smile to my face. I kept thinking: _Won't it be better if I just disappear?_ I tired, I really tried to find something, but I just couldn't get into anything. All those things seemed like worthless distractions and I myself felt obsolete. Needless. It just got worse and worse. And by the afternoon, I realized I cried for the last three hours. I…I didn't even know I was crying until I went into the bathroom and saw my face in the mirror. I looked like I was dead already. And then I saw the sleeping pills. I thought: _Why not?_ and I did it."

There was silence for several seconds then the doctor spoke up, "Do you feel as if you are a burden? Or that life isn't worth living?"

"I live alone, who could I be a burden to?"

"What makes you feel better?"

"Music," He replied with a small grin. "I play the piano when I'm feeling down. It's also a signal for the local cats that their food's there ready for them. That's when they come over, when they hear the piano."

"What makes you feel worse?"

Russel shrugged, "It's hard to say. It could be anything. Sometimes it could be just little things. The way my clothes look on my body, shoes I can't find, when I run out of milk. I get angry at myself for being so forgetful, for not being able to cheer up and just get on with things, like everyone else."

"Have you imagined your funeral and how people will react to your death?"

"Probably no one would come. Mine would be one of those graves covered in weeds and dirt, stuck in the far corner of the cemetery where nobody goes." He said, "And sad old Russel Hobbs would get forgotten quicker than yesterday's rain. Now, that I think about it, I know that really isn't what I want."

The doctor leaned inwards and rested his elbows on his desk, "Finally, I'd like you to tell me about Cherry."

"…Cherry…?"

"Yes, your wife. I believe this might be important. How is the relationship between you two?"

Russel looked away from the older man, distraught at that certain question. "I…I really don't want to talk about that."

Doctor N sighed, "Fine, I suppose you've open up enough for one day. But more question. This is just another formality, but I have to ask: Are you going to do it again?"

"That's a hard one, I don't know. But hey, I got it! The answer is 'No, I'm not, thank you very much.'"

"One more thing to make clear," The doctor stated, "What exactly happened last night?"

"Well after I spoke to Alanah, I went back to sleep. I slept really well but then someone woke me." Russel recalled. "It was the same nurse…she said she needed to speak to me…"

_The young nurse was shaking uncontrollably, her hands entwined with one another as her brown eyes dart around. "W-we have to go, Russel." Alanah said in a quivering voice, "You're not safe here."_

"_But…"_

"_Please!" She pled, "You must follow me. Quickly!" She took Russel by the hand and led him out into the hallway._

"She dragged me behind her. The ward seemed very quiet; it must have been late at night…"

_Her pace was brisk. Russel could barely keep up. "Hurry!" She said._

"_Wait! Tell me what's going on here?!"_

"The security guys who guard the ward were gone. She pointed down the long corridor and said:"

"_You go first. I'll explain everything in a minute."_

_Russel took lead and walked halfway down the hall only to be stopped by Alanah. "Russel, if we don't escape, they're going to hurt you. Please trust me. I know a way out of here. I'll help you escape. Let's go down this corridor; I'll be right behind you."_

_They walked all the way down the hall to reach a dead end._

"_Dammit," Alanah said, "We can't continue from here. Come on, Russel. We can take the service elevator."_

_He hesitated to follow her back in the other direction for a second. Was Alanah a parasite? Even with doubtful thoughts in his head, Russel followed. The two took a sharp turn left down a dark hall and, just as Alanah claimed, there was an elevator at its end. Alanah called the lift and after the metal door opened, the two entered. They rode the elevator up to the only floor that was available: the roof. The doors opened again and Alanah stepped out first, disappearing into the small section of darkness ahead._

"_What are we doing on the roof?" Russel asked then called out the girl's name, "Alanah!" He stepped forward enough to see the chatty nurse had gone to._

_Alanah was standing on the roof's ledge. Dark red blood covered her uniform top and hands. That wasn't on her before. "Come on, Russel. This is quicker than the stairs. And besides, all the doors are locked, anyway." Why did she sound so damn chipper about this? "This is the only way out of here, the only escape. Let's both jump. It won't hurt, I promise." She held one of her blood caked hands to him with a smile on her face._

"_Have you lost your damn mind?" Russel whispered sharply, "Get down from there right now!"_

_This caused her to retract her hand and frown, "I've made up my mind. I need to end this suffering now. Besides, I have no one to live for anyway. No one ever listened to me, no one ever cared…"_

"_I listened! You're a nice girl, Alanah. You have your whole life ahead of you."_

"_You listened?" Alanah turned her back to him. "Don't feel responsible for this. You didn't cause me this pain, this suffering. I have to do this so I can be free again. Jump with me, Russel. While you still can!"_

"_No!" He shouted and lunged forward to grab her arm but it was too little, too late. Alanah tipped forward dropped off the edge into blackness. He heard her body make impact with the cars below. Car alarms wailed out into the night, as if crying for the now deceased Alanah._

"After that, I went back to my room." Russel said. "I tried telling people about Alanah but they all thought I was crazy again and didn't believe me."

Doctor Niccals expression remained neutral at Russel's story. "And you're absolutely sure you saw Alanah jump off this building?"

Russel groaned, "You know what? It doesn't matter. I just want to finish this and get some fresh air."

"Russel, I know Alanah very well. She would never do something like that. I saw her this morning. She's fine. Why don't we stop by her station and say hello."

Russel stood to his feet and growled, "Stop treating me like I'm crazy! Fine, I'll do it. I don't care that much anyway!" He headed to the office's exit and turned the doorknob. He expected it to open but when it didn't, he began to get worried. He faced towards the doctor behind him and asked, "Why's the door locked?"

The doctor smirked as he took a step closer. "I plan ahead, Russel. I had a feeling in my gut and my gut is never wrong. I'm very sorry you had such a difficult life." Another step closer, "The sadness has poisoned your mind for too long. There's no coming back from it." Another step closer and Russel could smell the stench Alanah refer to. He smelt it before: it was death. There was no place for him to escape.

"For what it's worth," the doctor said in an icy tone, "I would've let you go if it wasn't for Alanah." Out of his back pocket, Doctor Niccals pulled out a Bowie knife and plunged the blade deep into Russel's abdomen. Niccals continued to stab him until he collapsed onto the floor. The doctor slashed at Russel's throat and listened to him slowly drown in his own blood.


	4. Dead Man Walking

"Where am I…?"

Rows and rows of red velvet theater chairs appeared before him, tucked away in darkness as light shined only from an elegant lamp on the small stage. The annoying squawks of a nearby crow perched on top of a dresser mirror placed in the middle of the stage filled the silent void that was this mysterious place. Ancient wood floor boards creaked underneath him with each step up the stage's stairs. He would have grabbed the stairs' railing if the wood didn't look like it would give him splinters.

A fancy, golden cord next to the dresser dangled from the high ceiling above which was not there before he came upon stage. It swayed side to side gently even though there wasn't any kind of draft or breeze in the enclosed space. Russel grabbed the tasseled end of the rope and gave it a little tug. The chime of a small bell rang throughout the room. The blackened out mirror revealed an image to him as the chime echoed into the distance. Not a still image, but a video feed of an unknown creature's eyeball. Yet, there was no type of video equipment or wires connected to the dresser to make that possible. Unless the equipment was hidden off-stage somewhere or behind the red curtains. The eye never directly looked at him. It twitched and moved about in a spastic manner without pattern.

"Nasty Doctor N," a loud and raspy voice muttered to Russel from the mirror. "He hurt poor, little Russel…"

"Who are you?" said Russel to the eye. The image of the eye was too zoomed in for him to tell what creature it belonged to.

It answered, "I am the **CROW**, of course! I will get you out of here." It paused for a brief moment then said with amusement in its voice. "Unless Russel want to stay?" The Crow continued when Russel responded with silence. "Ah! I thought so! There are two doors leading out of this place. One of them will simply take Russel back where he belongs. But behind the other one, there is a **GREAT REWARD** for him! It's something he always wanted, something he longs for every day…"

Russel examined the left side of the stage, then to the right but saw nothing of interest. "Where are these doors? I can't see them."

"Just walk back to the right side of the theater," The Crow replied, "My dear Russel can't miss them."

As ordered, he stepped down from stage and walked back to where he started from. To Russel's surprise, there were two normal looking wood doors just out of sight of the stage that weren't originally there before. He approached the doors, more than eager to leave this strange place. Russel's steps halted as from the dark depths, two tall and grotesque dolls stood firmly in place while they guarded their own door. Their large heads craned down towards Russel, painted on eyes held emotionless stares as they waited for his next move. A crimson red substance covered sections of the dolls' white porcelain skin and stained their red and white floral pattern dresses. They smelled faintly of copper pennies.

The Crow spoke up. Its voice no longer had an exact location but sounded as if it was all around him. "Does Russel like my girls? I knew he would."

He locked eyes with the doll on his right and 'she' stared back quietly. His skin began to crawl the longer he kept his eyes on 'her', which then turned into sharp needle pricks. Russel couldn't hold eye contact anymore and turned his head away, "Whatever they are, tell them to stop staring! It's rude."

"But they are here to guide Russel! They are the guardians of the doors! They know which door he should enter to get his reward. But there is a slight problem…" The Crow's voice trailed off with uncertainty to it.

"There's always a problem," said Russel, annoyed. "I'm not surprised. Which door should I go through then?"

"I will leave that to Russel's own best judgment," replied the Crow. "But this might be his only chance to find what he had lost, and Russel will never get it back. Russel has only one question and he can only ask one of my girls. He must choose wisely…"

"Fine, I can do that." Russel said. "But I know there's always some Catch 22 with these type of things. What's the catch to this?"

"It's very simple. One of my girls **ALWAYS TELLS THE TRUTH**...while the other one **ALWAYS LIES**."

"And I'm guessing you can't tell me which is which?"

"It's something I've forgotten a long ago myself, Russel. But does it really matter? Said the Crow. "One question is all Russel needs to find the right door." And with that last statement, The Crow fell silent and Russel was left to his own devices. One only question, only one correct choice. He could easily fuck up and who know what may happen then. As much shit had already happened to him, nothing could catch him off guard anymore.

Russel looked at the doll to his right then to his left. He needed to ask something that the dolls would know about its counterpart. "Which door would the other doll point me to?" He asked the left doll. Small bells chimed and the right door glowed with a soft, yellow light, indicating the doll's answer. Russel was back to square one. What if the doll was actually lying and that wasn't the other's choice of door? He already used up his only question and it was a fifty-fifty percent chance he would choose right or wrong.

Assuming that the glowing door was incorrect, Russel went for the door on the left. The doorknob turned with ease and the door swung open into the room. Darkness welcomed him like an old friend. He stepped inside and the door slammed shut behind him. A sudden beam of light broke the blackness in front of him. A small, wooden coffee table sat under the light in the center of the room with something on top of it: A vase of flowers. A silver, metal vase full of red roses on top of a burnt orange tablecloth to be exact. The sight of the roses' blood red petals, their beauty, brought anger to Russel. He hated them with a passion. In his eyes, flowers carried only but pain and despair with them. Why did people like receiving those overgrown weeds as gifts?

"Is this supposed to be my reward? Flowers?!" Russel shouted out at the darkness, he knew 'the Crow' could hear him. He stormed towards the table and said, "I hate flowers!" as he flipped the table over. Both the table and the vase clattered on the floor, roses littered the area around his feet. "You lied to me."

The wind picked up and the gigantic, twitchy eye of the Crow appeared from the shadows. Its' voice sounded upset like a parent scolding a child. "Did you really think there would be anything precious waiting for you here? Look at these lovely roses. Just like everything else, in the end, they just turn to ash…" The Crow's eye faded just like they came and the roses wilted in seconds, turning into ash and scattering in the wind.

A door similar to the one he entered through previously appeared on the other side of the room, accompanied with a soft bell chime. Freedom, sweet freedom. The heavy scent of mothballs wafted underneath the door when Russel approached it, he could feel the air temperature drop dramatically.

A gust of wind rushed pass Russel and forced the door open. He was staring at the candle room inside the King of Maggots' home. He entered and closed the door. The mothballs smothered the smell of flowers and ash. The King was nowhere to be seen and the house seemed the same like when he first arrived here. No drastic changes except for one candle at the end of the row of candles he had blown out days ago. Or was it weeks ago? The drugs that the hospital gave him must have messed with his head. If this was like the last time, he would just have to blow out another flame and then cut his fucking arm off. Russel shuddered, feeling a small pang of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach as the memory repeated in the back of his mind. Maybe the result would be different since he came here another way? Well, he wouldn't get anywhere by asking questions.

"Here goes nothing," the man muttered as he leaned in over a candle and blew out the flame in a single breath.

Russel opened his eyes and, looking down at his hands, flipped them over from his palms to the backs. His skin tone now lacked pigment. His whole body had been painted monochrome to contrast his black surroundings. The sound of something wet being squished repeated between someone's hands filled the nothingness. His grey body illuminated the darkness around him. Russel walked ahead into the unknown. The squishing sound grew louder as he drew closer to the source. The noise was coming from a black body bag. It rested on top of a mound of bloody limbs inside a rustic dumpster, wiggling to and fro like a trapped animal.

The stench of decay and iron could bring nausea the strongest of stomachs and Russel was no different. He held his breath as curled his fingers around the bag's cold plastic and pulled it down to the ground. The thrashing ceased when it fell over on its side with a heavy _thump_. Someone obviously wanted to get rid of a body but didn't want to burn or bury it. Russel gripped the bag again and flipped it onto its back, exposing the zipper that ran down the bag's length. He took the zipper in hand and pulled on it, shaking his head at himself. He must be insane wanting to know the contents of a body bag. Like a body wouldn't be in there. With the bag now open, Russel slowly parted the plastic flaps to find…

…_his own dead body._

His white eyes shot open with a startle and he gasped for precious air, frantically searching around his new surroundings. He rose from the bag like a reanimated corpse and he looked at himself. His hands and arms were caked with smudged, bloody fingerprints. He had to bend his fingers several times to believe that they belonged to him. A simple, red plaid shirt Russel had been wearing was littered with holes from his stab wounds. But somehow, he was perfectly fine besides the large amount of his own blood on ¾ of his skin and clothes.

Russel's mind still swam about in a fog, trying to wrap his he around all of this. A scream, a woman's scream of pure anguish tore through his ears. It was like sharp claws ripping apart his brain and the fog that consumed it. The familiar stench of old blood and rotten flesh filled his lungs again. It seemed that breathing in fresh air was a luxury for only happy folk. Four cream colored padded walls and an old, dilapidated wood door formed the room around Russel. The room looked unused for years, or even decades. A note stapled on the wall got his attention: _My name is Russel Hobbs. I live alone in this two-bedroom flat…_ It was his own suicide note but now with blood droplets soaked into the paper. The good doctor either wanted his death to look like another suicide or just hung the note up like some sick trophy.

"You treacherous, dirty bastard!" Rage coursed through his veins. He dug his nails in his palms hard enough to break the skin. "I opened my heart to you and you stabbed me to death in cold blood! You'll pay for this, I swear you will…"

He felt so stupid. Stupid for trusting a slimy snake like that doctor. That doctor was bad news straight from the beginning. Then two and two clicked together in Russel's head. Doctor N killed him but he came back to life hours later. The King of Maggots was right, he was certainly immortal. Alanah; she told him she was seeing the doctor for regular therapy sessions what became of her? He hoped the young lady didn't fall to the same fate as he did. She was truly a nice girl. Chatty but nice.

Revenge was a dish best served cold, and Russel was willing to give the doctor a full course meal. But he wasn't dumb enough to go charging in unarmed. He either had to find a weapon or create one. A silver, metal pipe plunged deep in the chest of a decaying black-haired woman gave off a shimmer in the flickering light. He was about to take the pipe from the woman but he froze in place when he realized who it was. It was Alanah. Her body slumped against the wall and blood covered her nurse scrubs. Who knows how long she was down here. Russel reached up to touch her face but retracted it. No amount of sorry would bring her back. Only the downfall of her murderer would avenge her death.

Russel grabbed the pipe and pulled in out the woman. The motion caused her to fall over onto her side. The pipe had a nice, sharp point to it. If long enough, could make a low grade bastard spear. Russel chuckled to himself as he smacked the bloodied pipe against his palm. He felt his sanity slipping with each passing minute.

The ancient door to the padded room creaked open. He was surprised that the doctor kept it unlocked but then again, he was supposed to be dead. Why lock doors for the deceased? The shrieks of agony continued outside the so called safety of the side room. The smell of death was much stronger out here.

The whole building appeared unfinished as if construction progress had stopped and was left to rot for years under the hospital. Lucky for the doctor, no one would even consider coming down to this creepy place. Yellow-orange lights barely kept the place lit up and the shadows looked more menacing in this color of lighting. Wires bolted to the ceiling ran down to a gold picture frame with the painting of the Mona Lisa in it. No, it wasn't the kind of painting Russel had seen before, only heard about. The wires kept the woman's neck and arms in the right position even through rigor mortis. The perfect garb and make-up made this woman into the spitting image of the great Da Vinci painting.

No amount of make-up could cover the bloody fluid seeping out the nose and mouth or prevent the eyes from bulging out their sockets. It was like the Living Paintings series but instead was a woman's body tied down to a wooden chair. The Birth of Venus, the Girl with the Pearl Earring, Lady with an Ermine; the whole underground area was full of dead women posed to look like famous paintings. Russel's nose curled at the sight. The doctor was killing off his patients for his dirty pleasures. He hated violence and sexualized violence was the worst of the worse. He couldn't let another woman die in the doctor's hands.

"You're going to pay for this, you bastard," said Russel as he tightened his grip on his pipe. He passed through the morbid gallery of dead, and sometimes naked, women. It was time to end all this insanity once and for all. He followed the screaming to a back room separate from the doctor's human gallery. Russel pressed his back up against the wall and peered into the room.

"I don't need eyes to enjoy your fear, dearie." Murdoc said to the woman tied up in front of him. She tried to turn her head away but the doctor grabbed her face and forcible twisted her head back. His nails dug into her tear stained cheeks. He released her and reeled his right hand back then slapped her across the face. "Scream louder, my dear! Scream your damn lungs out!" He bellowed. She let out a deafening screech.

He sighed and gave a satisfied nod underneath his comedy mask and blindfold, "Yes, this is by far my favorite of songs. Would you like me to dance for you?" He began to sway his body to the screams, humming a soft tune along with it. "Unlike you, I know all art needs to be appreciated. Your scream is like a poem without words. And your body, an instrument. You make every fiber of my body tremble with excitement! Your body will forever be admired by those like me, who understand only the pure and true form of art!"

Russel didn't want to hear another word out that madman's mouth. This had to stop. He rushed in the room and lunged forward, wielding his sharp pipe. The pipe pierced the doctor's neck and exited out his mouth, knocking off his mask and blindfold. Doctor Niccals slowly fell to his knees and shook violently. Blood sputtered out as he clawed at the pipe in desperation.

Russel pulled the pole out the doctor like a sword from a stone and swung the pipe with all his might, connecting with the doctor's head. Murdoc Niccals fell onto his back and stared up the large man towering over him with widen eyes. The doctor shakily raised his hand towards Russel before the pipe, stained now with his own blood, stabbed right into his chest.

"This is for Alanah," Russel twisted the weapon deeper in the doctor's torso. All his movement had finally ceased after that.

Panting and shaking, Russel released of the pipe. Anger made his blood run hot. He wanted to claw at his head and scream to the high heavens. But he did not. He kept himself calm and collected on the outside. He undid the rope bindings holding the woman wrists and legs together. The woman crumpled to the floor after her release. Russel headed for the door but stopped when he heard the woman speak up to him.

"Thank you, thank you so much," she said in between sobs. "He would have killed me like the others. That animal. You gave him what he deserved. But…who are you?"

Russel remained with his back turned to her and responded, "I'm just a dead man walking. Now, get out of here. Call the police. I'm going home."


	5. Crazy Cat Lover

_Standing by the river, I wonder: do I need a stone? No. My heart is heavy enough, it will drag me down for sure._

Rain was a usual sight in England, it always has been. Tonight, the rain seemed to fall harder and colder than it had ever before. The city was a depressing place during the night but rain made it a more dreadful place to be. Colorful neon lights of gentlemen's clubs and bars reflected in puddles of water collecting on the sidewalk didn't draw Russel in as he walked through the water. As much as he could've used a drink to relax his nerves, he was too tired to deal with any more social interaction for the night. He wanted to wash away the horrid memories of tonight with a warm shower, enjoy a cigarette, and see his cats again.

Russel had been walking in the rain for miles now. He couldn't just stroll on a bus with torn clothes and blood all over him. Someone will assume he was a murderer and call the cops. But he was a murderer, he killed Doctor N. Although, he did it out of pure revenge and saved a woman's life in the process. It still made him a murderer in the eyes of the law. No, the law would never catch him. How could the law find someone who is invisible to everyone?

No lights appeared to be on when Russel approached his apartment complex and ascended up its concrete stairs. No one saw him slip on in. Orange light filtered into the dark lobby behind Russel as he entered and then closed the door, filling the area with darkness again. Thankfully, he knew the layout of the run down building like the back of his hand. The lack of appropriate lighting in the lobby wasn't really a problem. At least building management put a small amount of wall lights on the stairs so no one would fall and break something. Considerate of them, Russel thought. The wooden steps creaked under his feet as he climbed upward.

Flat 4: the metal number nailed to the old white door brought an odd sense of safety with it. Russel turned the brass doorknob, it was unlocked, and entered his home. The whole place was falling apart at its seams. Chipped paint, peeling wallpaper and lack of constant heat; the flat used to be so nice a decade ago. It probably wouldn't be in such a state of disrepair if he cared to clean or fix up the poor place. He could barely take care of himself though so, what was the point? Yes, the flat was pretty much a toilet but it was still his home. Closing the door and locking himself in, Russel flipped the lights on in the small foyer. The lights came on but immediately shut themselves off. He flicked the light switch on and off repeatedly yet the light refused to come back on.

Russel sighed, _Great, I must've run out of money in the electric meter._ He felt a headache forming over some so stupid he could have prevented. There had to be some spare change in his bag. Hanging on the coat rack by the door was his brown messenger bag, he dug around through the bag's large middle pocket. A handful of loose coins littered the bottom, along with several white envelopes and an open pack of cigarettes. He took the coins and cigarettes but frowned at the envelopes. They were bills he been stalling on paying, a red Final Notice stamp marked each one of the bills. How could he pay these bills now when he wasn't getting money for at least two weeks? Where did all the money go? If he never got out of that hospital alive, bills no longer would be an issue.

Just outside the flat was an old electric meter, every flat had their own electric meter. Instead of paying monthly bills, everyone credited their meter with coins. It removed the middle man of having to deal with the electric company. Russel inserted the coins in the machine's slot and they gave as soft clink when they hit the bottom of the meter. That should last him a week or two if he remembered to turn off the lights when he left the room. Russel relaxed his shoulders. He could finally take a long, hot shower.

_Standing by the river, I smile. Will I miss it all? No…I'll be glad to leave it all behind and never come back._

He disposed of his bloodied clothes in the trash and put on a black track suit he had forgotten he bought forever ago while on one of those dumb health kicks. Somehow, it still fitted him perfectly. The shower did lift his mood a tad. He could use something to eat now. Maybe enjoy the simple things in life?

Russel never noticed how eerie the flat looked in the dark until now when he exited his bedroom. Shadowy figures seemed to dart in and out of his line of vision and incoherent voices chattered in the distance through the soft patter of raindrops. A shadow with a single red eye lunged at him before it dissipated into nothingness. It made Russel flinch even though his knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Childish of him to be frightened over shadows or the Boogieman, really. A cup of hot coffee sounded better than food, since he had lost his appetite now.

An old metal tea kettle whistled with anger as steam shot out from its spout. "Alright, alright. I'm coming," said Russel as removed the kettle from the heat and shut off the gas stove. He poured the brew in his favorite mug, a normal red mug, and sat down at the small table right next to the kitchen window.

_I'm back in my old life, _he thought as he took a sip of his coffee and lit a cigarette. _But how can I fix what's been broken for years? Nothing seems to go right. Everything is against me. _After one long inhale and a slow exhale, Russel extinguished the cigarette in the empty ashtray. _Maybe it's my destiny to lose after all. And now those Parasites, like if it wasn't enough. But I killed Doctor N and saved someone's life. That felt…good. _Taking one last drink of his coffee, Russel got up from his seat and poured the rest down the drain then set his mug on the counter. _It's getting late, I should summon the cats now. I'd like to see them before bed._

_Standing by the river, I close my eyes. One jump and I'm there? No, someone jumped in after me. He will never be my friend…_

In the living room, right beside the entrance to the balcony, was a dusty but still very intact piano. It was a marriage gift from his mother. She always wanted him to play the piano for a living. Russel never saw playing the piano as a lasting career choice. It was more of a hobby than anything. But perhaps she was right? He didn't need sheet music to help him remember a specific song. His memory was superb when it came to music. Every note to any genre of music, Russel knew it.

The ivory keys were cold to the touch yet they played the sweetest sounds after of use. Though he only used it to call the local cats for dinner. He started with Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata in C minor to ease him back in the swing of things. The whole room filled with sound of music. His neighbors would certainly hear him but he didn't care. These walls were thin like tissue paper. He left the balcony doors open so the cats could hear him playing. It was strange that the cats came running whenever he played any kind of music, even recorded music.

Russel stopped playing after he heard something land on the balcony. More than a half a dozen cats flooded inside the living room and he got out on his seat with unseen eagerness. "Get in here, everyone. I've missed you guys!" The cats huddled around his feet except one brown spotted cat who kept its distance on the dining table. "And who's that? Katsu! I bet you thought dead and gone. Well, make yourselves at home. Dinner will be ready soon."

The cats followed after him back on the balcony where he filled their little bowls with canned salmon. Russel watched the hungry cats eat from the doorway then faced the cat who hadn't moved an inch since he came inside the flat. "You never eat my food, Katsu." Russel said and he took a seat at the table. "Ate already?"

Kastu's dark eyes just stared back at him.

Russel sighed and ran a hand over his bald head. "I know, I know. You're a good friend. The best friend I have, really. The only friend in the whole world. You come over to keep me company and want nothing in return. I appreciate it. If you only knew what I've been through lately. I've literally been to hell and back, man."

He scratched the cat under his chin and received a soft purr. "But I'm here now. In my flat. Alive and it's the same damn mess that it's always been. I'm not sure how to deal with all this anymore, don't know if I can. I wish I could be like you. At peace with the world and always smiling…" The frantic banging on the front door made Katsu's pointed ears perk up and Russel raise his head. Who was up this late?

Just as Russel answered the door, a man stormed up to him. Without greeting or hesitation, the man began yelling. "Are you out of your mind?! Do you know what time it is?" Russel grimaced immediately. He wished it was Satan himself than this guy at his door. He knew the guy all too well, everyone in the complex did. Teal skin, lanky, black hair molded in such that it looked like an off brand pompadour, eyes yellowed from years of smoking. He went by the name Kurt but Russel prefer to call him Smurf. Kurt wore only a pair of denim jeans with black boots. It was his usual apparel around the complex. Did he even own any kind of shirt?

"We've all had it with you and your bloody cats!" The tall man said, livid to the point that his face turned from teal to a light lavender.

"I suggest you change your tone right now." Russel growled.

"Don't tell me about my tone! I'll have any tone I like!" Kurt responded, spit flying out from his mouth.

"If it's alright for you to play the fucking piano in the middle of the night then I can raise my voice if I want to! You think you own the place? You think any of us here care about your stinking cats? They are a bloody nuisance!"

Russel turned his back to the angry man and said, "Get lost, you wannabe greaser. I'm done talking to you."

Kurt grabbed Russel's shoulder and forced him to face one another again. He was now in the larger man's face, jabbing his finger in his chest. "How dare you?! This is going to stop one way or another, you crazy cat lover! If this happens again, you'll see the pest control stepping in. And it won't be pretty. Hell, I'll poison your fucking cats myself, if I have to!"

Russel grabbed ahold of the blue man's wrist and tightened his grip. "Touch me again and I'll rip your damn hand off. Touch my cats and I'll do something worse," then gave him a hard shove. Kurt fell to the floor and stared up at Russel in silent rage as the large man towered over him. "I'm done talking to you. Go fuck yourself." Russel slammed the door shut on him and locked it once more. He heard his grumbling outside grow faint then silent.

He ran his hands over his head and dug his nails into his skull, hard enough to leave indents in his skin. The pain reminded Russel that he was still alive, still stuck in a world filled with people like Kurt. A world made completely against him. He tried and tried again to keep going, to adapt to the world around him. But was it even worth it in the long run? He dragged his hands down his face, snagging his fingers on his eyelids. Temptation told him to release his frustration by clawing his eyes out but it wouldn't change a damn thing. He would still be here, watching his life go by day by day. His arms slumped to his sides and he dragged himself from the foyer to the living room.

The cats had left him. He was all alone again. All he had now was the piano and it wasn't going to solve his problems. Nothing could fix the things wrong with him and everything around him. If he tried to kill himself again, he would just come back to life, forever stuck in this paradox of a life. Russel pounded his fist on the piano's keys. The sound of random notes rang out through the rain outside. Frustrated wasn't even the correct word to describe how Russel felt. Perhaps words couldn't portray his feelings? Did he have any other emotions other than sadness and anger? He left the piano and retreated towards his room in the back of the flat.

But his reflection in a mirror on the wall stopped him in his tracks. The reflection was nothing more than a shadowy mass with glowing eyes. It mimicked his movement exactly like any reflection would. It was silently mocking him, laughing at his past and present misfortune. The glass shattered underneath his meaty fist and broken mirror shards fell to the floor. That meant 7 years of bad luck if he believed in superstitions. Now, he only had a sharp mess to clean.

Later he would deal with it. He put everything off to the point that all his issues piled up and towered over him until he couldn't bear with it no longer. Russel fled to the safety of his room and collapsed on his bed. It was a place he always thought his problems couldn't get him. He was wrong and sleep just became another problem. He screamed into his pillow. Screamed until his lungs ached and his throat stung. His screaming trailed off into a fit of muffled sobs then faded into snoring. Two feline eyes watched over Russel from the windowsill by the bed as he slept. His only friend in the whole world.


	6. Her Name is Noodle

A white van was then only vehicle driving down the lone forest road. Its tires bounced over potholes caused by previous ice storms. Scrawled across the van's side in chipping black paint were the word _Pest Control_, followed by a phone and cellphone number. A blanket of think fog masked the van's movement from the city to an old Victorian house, secluded from the world. The van slowed to a slow to a stop in front of the house and the sound of the door opening then shutting echoed through the silence. Lights in the house began to switch on from the attic to the second floor, then the first floor and the basement. A lanky figure opened up the back of the van and dragged out a body by its legs out onto the ground. The figure grumbled and cursed as he slowly heaved the body towards the house.

Night turned into day then reverted back to night. Russel would have kept sleeping if the knocking on the door didn't wake him. He hoped it wasn't him again. And if it was, what was he going to scream at him about now? For breathing and existing?

This time, the knocking didn't sound frantic when Russel approached the door. He braced himself and opened the door. It wasn't Kurt at all at the door, but a young lady of Asian descent. She stood about shoulder height even wearing black combat boots. Her eyes were almost an emerald green and they looked up at him, friendly and welcoming.

"Hello, Mister Hobbs," she spoke, her voice thick with accent. "How are you? Are you feeling better?"

Russel's eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head a little. "Do I know you?"

"Of course. You don't remember." She said, a bit dejected at his response and gave him a small bow. "My name is Suzuki Gonkura but everyone calls me Noodle. We met a few days ago. You were out cold at the time. Those pills you worked well. You certainly took one too many than was prescribed by your doctor."

"So it's you…" said Russel. "I had a feeling you'd turn up sooner or later."

"Yeah, it's me." Noodle said with a light chuckle. "I understand if you're angry at me. It wouldn't surprise me if you blame me for calling the ambulance and saving your life but I had my reasons for it. Personal reasons." She looked down at her feet for a moment then perked up. It made Russel jump. "That's why I came here the other night. To talk to you."

"Look, I'm very busy." Russel immediately said on command. The statement was robotic. He was so used to using saying it to get people to leave him be. "Please, just leave me alone." He turned to his to the woman and was about to shut the door behind him when she grabbed his arm by the wrist.

"I understand, Mister Hobbs," she said, "These are busy times for us all. The constant pressure, the never-ending need to succeed. We're all running after something, aren't we? It gets to that point sometimes when it's just too much. We can't cope much longer. There are days I feel like just…giving up. I wouldn't blame you if you felt the same." She finally released his arm and turned her back on him, taking long, slow strides as she kept talking. "Sometimes I feel I could just lock the door, get away from it all and, you know, sit down. Take some pills, go to sleep and give up. Just don't give a fuck anymore, right?"

"What are you implying?" Russel said as he narrowed his round eyes in bitterness. "And how dare you?"

Noodle faced Russel and raised her hand up in defense. "I'm sorry Mister Hobbs. There's no denying that we met in some…usual circumstances but I thought it would be best to get it out of the way first." She dropped her arms back to her sides and said, "I know you tried to kill yourself. Okay?"

Cautious, Russel said, "Fine but what do you want from me?"

"I saw the ad you put in the paper." She said with a smile. "It seems you have a room for rent."

"I…" Russel began then said, astonished, "They still print that? It was months ago. Nobody ever called, completely forgot about it actually."

"Well, I would like to be your lodger, Mister Hobbs." Noodle said, confident. "You've got the room and I've got plenty of money. Won't that work for the both of us? I'm very tidy and I promise not to spend too much time in the bathroom in the morning."

"I don't really…" Russel didn't like how eager the girl was.

"I read your suicide note," she admitted. "I'm sorry but it was hard not to. I understand you like your loneliness. You stray from people. I get that but I won't get in the way. I promise I will give you your space. What do you think? Do we have a deal?"

Russel rubbed his chin. "I guess I could use the extra money…"

"Great! Can I come in?" said Noodle as she squeezed pass him and let herself in.

Russel closed the door and pressed his back up against it, watching the young girl close. It wasn't like he was afraid of women. It was the fact that she managed to get inside his house and lied about who she was. He wanted some answers. "How did you get in that night when I know for sure I locked the door?"

She was hesitant for a moment but then spoke up. "Okay, I'll tell you. You won't like it but I'll tell you. I picked the lock."

"You did what?" Russel wasn't quite sure he heard her correctly. It almost sounded like she picked the lock on his door and broke into his home.

"I know it sounds like I'm criminal, but believe me, I'm not. My guardian was a man with many skills and taught me everything he knew." She took a small metal box out the bag she carried over her shoulder. "Look, I even got this little box I take everywhere with me." She said. "There are few types of lock picks in it. They're very expensive and custom made. It's now the only thing that reminds me of him." She put the metal box back in her bag.

"I see…" He wasn't convinced of her story. It seemed a bit too good to be true. "But you know, it sounds like your guardian was really a burglar. Not a locksmith."

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"Yeah, I guess." He said while he ran a hand over his head. "But what gave you the idea that you can pick the lock on my door and just stroll on in like everything all fine and dandy?"

"I heard the cats." Noodle said. "They were going crazy. It was like if all hell broke loose inside. The noise they made, it was incredible. Like ghosts howling. Then for a while, it turned into an almost human cry…" She went silent and twisted the leather strap of her bag in her hands. "Well anyway," she continued, "I kept banging on the door but you were already asleep. In a coma, I believe that's what the doctors said. So I pulled out the trusty C-Rake, worked my magic and got the door open. You could say I had a hunch."

"A hunch," Russel said, skeptical. "Great…"

"I had a hunch that something was very wrong. And I made no mistake, did I?" said Noodle.

"Maybe," Russel admitted. "But you claimed you were my daughter at the hospital. You're a little lair, aren't you? How can I trust you? How should I know you won't slit my throat when I sleep and run off with my things?"

"Hell, what is wrong with you?" She said appalled. "Slit your throat? Are you always so suspicious of people? If I wanted to do such a thing, I would never bothered saving you. Would I? Just think about it for a second. I was trying to avoid an assault of questions. I didn't know what else to say. Otherwise, they wouldn't have let me come in the ambulance with you. And I wanted to see if you made it. I was worried."

Worried? He tried not to scoff at her words. Why would a stranger be worried about him? "This spare room I have is in pretty bad shape, you know." He would so anything to detour the woman from wanting to stay in his home. The other option would be to pick her up, sling her over his shoulder and physically kick her out.

Noodle said, "I'm not fussy. It's not for long anyway. Just for a few weeks, maybe. Anything is better than what I've got at the moment."

"Which is?"

"I slept at the train station last night. There's a guy there who talks to rats and believe all forms of government are run by dog people from Mars. He was trying to form a rat army to fight them. You should see him."

"Wait, can you even afford rent for the room?" Russel asked.

"Sure!" The girl said. She dug around in her bag and took out a large wad on money with a rubber band to hold it together. "I'll pay you for two months in advance, if you want."

Russel looked at the wad of cash that at Noodle. How did she get her hands on that kind of money? "Why not go and stay at a hotel?"

"I hate hotels." Noodle answered with a frown and she put the money back in her bag.

Russel raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "More than train stations? With homeless weirdos and rats?"

"Martin? Oh no, he's cool and harmless." Said Noodle. "And he kept the rats away."

"Why do you want this room so much?" Russel asked. He didn't want company from anyone. She was trying her hardest to get this room out from his cold hands. "Let's face it, the flat's falling apart. It's cold, it's dark, and it's a bit moldy. This is the old part of town where nothing ever happens. It's far from the city center and there are only two buses going through here. And that's if you're lucky. And I'm known as the fucked up cat lover with the creepy, soulless eyes. They would burn me at the stake if they could. They would tie cinderblocks to my legs and throw me off a bridge like a helpless litter of kittens. I'm not exactly great company for a girl like you."

"Who are _They_?" She asked.

"People…" Russel responded and he stared at the floor, holding himself. "Just people…"

"Look, Mister Hobbs. I don't care about people at all." Noodle stated matter-of-factly. Russel looked up at the girl when she said that, more surprised than anything else. She appeared bitter then her face softened. "But I do like cats. Do you think they'll smell the rats on me? I could really use a shower."

There was no deterring the girl from this place without tossing her out the door. "I'm sure you'll change your mind when you see it," said Russel as he led Noodle through the flat. "The window is stuck and it doesn't shut properly. There's clutter everywhere and it's got a funny smell." The spare room was just outside Russel's bedroom, the door hinges let out the most annoying and drawn out squeak when he opened it.

The smell of damp fabric hung heavy in the air and the curtains fluttered in the wind in front of the open window across the room. Boxes of junk were stacked all around a twin sized bed that had gone unused for years. A film of dust covered in dingy white sheets. An old teddy bear with a red bow tied around its neck sat on the bed, staring at Russel with glossy black eyes. Russel scowled at the stuffed animal. He thought he put the dumb thing away. He batted the teddy bear off the bed before Noodle had noticed it.

Noodle pushed pass Russel to get inside the room and looked around. Russel found in difficult to figure what she felt about the trash heap of a room. He hoped she would get disgusted and walk right out the door.

"This room is perfect!"

He let out a mental groan then said, "Really? What about all this junk?"

"I'll move some stuff to the side, if that's okay with you," said Noodle as she peeked inside a cardboard near the bed. "Most of this stuff I can use. All I need is a bed to sleep in and a roof over my head to cover me from the rain. And a power outlet so I can charge my laptop. Oh, and somewhere to wash, too. I'm dying for a shower."

"You mentioned some personal reasons for staying here…?" Russel managed to change the conversation, thus grabbing Noodle's attention again.

She closed the flaps to the cardboard box and sat on top of it. "Yes but it's a long story, though. I don't really want to bore you with all that personal crap."

"Okay," Russel said and he took a seat on the bed. "In that case, could you give me the short version?"

"Alright." She agreed. "I'm looking for someone. I don't really know this person. But it's a…friend of a friend. I don't know what this guy looks like, since I've only talked to him online." Noodle's eyes shifted to a lamp with a white shade on a box next to her. "This is a nice lamp. Does it work?" She looked back at Russel. "What was I talking about? Oh, yeah. I don't know what he looks like but I know my way around computers. I managed to track him down. Turns out he lives here, somewhere in this building. I don't know which flat and there's 8 flats altogether. It shouldn't be too hard to find him."

"What do you want from him?" said Russel.

Noodle answered quick and almost defensive. "I just want to talk to him. He did something really bad, something horrible. I need to talk to him to get closure."

Suspicion rose again in Russel. "Right…just to talk."

She nodded, "Yep. I want to meet face to face with him. That's all."

"You're not in some kind of trouble, are you?"

"Do I look like some kind of serial killer, Mister Hobbs?" Noodle asked, sliding off the box and adjusting her black jean skirt.

"I don't know," said Russel as he shrugged. "What do serial killers look like anyway?"

"A scar across the face, an eye patch, rough stubble." Noodle said, motioning the features on her face as she named them off.

Russel chuckled. "You just described a pirate. Just add the peg leg and we got the full picture." He then shrugged again. "But who knows; I'm no expert in murderers. Not yet at least…" He stood up and dusted his pants off, looking at Noodle. She didn't look or sound like a bad person even with the trust issues due to recent events. "Is there anyone I can contact for reference?"

"Well," said Noodle. "I never rented a room before so not really. I lived with my guardian all my life until recently. And I don't have any other living relatives." Noodle took noticed to a section of the wall near the bed. "That will be a perfect spot for my posters up there!" She faced Russel, "You know, you've been asking me all these questions and I never got the chance to ask about how you're feeling. You've just gone through a terrible experience. You barely survived. I suppose I might be out of line to ask you this. But I'm really curious as to why you tried to kill yourself? What made you do that? What did you feel?"

_What did you feel? _The girl's question repeated over and over in his head like a broken record. He felt his legs and hands go numb as he grew more anxious. He didn't want to be hassled into talking about his feelings again. Since that went so well the last time he shared his feelings with another person. "No offence, but I don't really want to talk about it." Russel answered, evasive as always.

"Fair enough." Noodle said and headed towards the door. "Maybe when you know me better, you will feel more like sharing. I'm a good listener, you know."

_Doubt it_. Russel thought then said, "Let's just go back to the living room."

The two re-entered the dark living room together. The rain outside hadn't let up at the least.

"The room is great!" Noodle said and she showed Russel her outstretched hand for a shake. "So what do you say, Mister Hobbs?"

Everything seemed fine enough. Noodle appeared to be an alright person and he needed the money. Maybe he could deal with her until she found her mystery man. Russel reached out take the girl's hand when a gust of icy cold air rushed past him. He retracted his hand quick as a figure materialized right behind Noodle, though he could see straight through it. Those brown eyes that hold no light in them, a chilling smile that could charm anyone, and a head full of dark locks. It was the King of Maggots. Noodle hadn't noticed the presence of the King, even when he brushed back her side bangs and kissed her cheek like a lost lover. The King then vanished into thin air.

"I hope you're not going to change your mind about this." She said with a smile on her face but then frowned when he didn't take her hand. "Mister Hobbs?"

Was this some kind of sign? Russel shook his head and back away from Noodle. He didn't want her near him. He didn't want her in his house anymore. He had to make the first move before she could pull something out and kill him. Russel charged at Noodle and pinned her against the wall by her neck under his forearm. Paintings fell off the wall on collision.

"I knew you were one of them." Russel spat. "I knew it!"

Noodle struggled under his weight, trying to push him off. "What are you talking about?" She managed to choke out. "Just try to relax. Everything is okay."

"But why you? Why would you want to do this to me? You have no damn reason!" Russel yelled and pressed his arm down on her neck.

"Calm down," Her voice was barely a whisper now as she dug her knees in his chest, bracing herself to push him off. "I'm not going to do anything to you, alright? I just want to rent a room, nothing else. I promise. Okay? Just take a deep breath and please explain to me what just happened. I'm little confused."

Then, maybe…" Russel paused, staring at Noodle where her eyes were supposed to be. She would have done something against him by now if she was one of the Parasite, not talk. No, there had to be another reason why the King of Maggots would kiss her. His eyes widen as his thoughts piece together the answer and he released Noodle. "You're going to die…" He almost choked out an innocent girl.

Noodle picked herself up and rubbed the back of her neck. Her voice monotone voice had turned into a mumble while she held her head down. "Yeah, I know. But how do you know? Do you possess some kind of supernatural mind-reading abilities?" Noodle then lifted her head, "Or is it obvious?"

"Well," Russel said. "I don't know how you will die but call it a hunch, if you like." He let out a sheepish laugh.

"That's cool. A hunch," said Noodle, nodding slowly. "Well, I do. I know exactly what's killing me. It already started, as a matter of fact. Do you want to see? I'll show you. Take a good look, because I'm not going to do it again." Noodle took a hold of her hair and the black beret on her head then snatched them both off. Her real hair was nothing more than small tuffs of purple here and there on her pale scalp. Russel could see her eyes now; narrow, emerald green eyes with her eyelids dusted in light blue eye shadow. She kept her eyes locked with his for a minute, waiting for a reaction perhaps. When one never came, Noodle fitted her wig and hat back in place once more. Russel had no further questions to ask this time, he had berated the young girl enough for now.

"It's time to wake up, my big tomcat." A muffled woman's voice called for him through the darkness of his slumber. Russel stirred at the sound of the unfamiliar voice but his range of movement was hinder at his wrists. His eyes shot open in panic. His vision went in and out of focus as the blinding white light made the headache at the back of his head worse. The stench of the area around reeked of the irony smell of blood and rotting flesh. It made his stomach churn.

Chained to a large pipe by handcuffs, Russel attempted to break either the cuffs or the metal pipe by yanking on them repeatedly. Nothing worked, the metal was too sturdy even for him to break. There wasn't a place in the small room that didn't have blood splatter, it looked like a massacre happened. Dirty animal cages lined some walls and rusty tools laid on a table beside Russel. He wasn't liking where this was going. A woman hidden under a black gas mask wearing the grimiest of white nurse's outfits with the skimpiest of skirts stood near him.

"What's the matter, sleepy head?" She asked, "Had a bad dream?" The woman leaned down towards Russel. Her nearly visible breasts inches away from his face. "Do you want me to give you a cuddle and a kiss? Take the nightmare away?"

Russel turned his head away and struggled with his bindings again. He hadn't been attracted to anyone for over a decade. He wasn't interested in people and if he was, that lady would be the very last one on his list. If she was the last person on Earth. And if he was desperate.

She forced Russel to look at her by grabbing a hold of his cheeks and turning his head. "What's the matter?" She cooed, "Cat got your tongue?" She slid herself on top of Russel's lap. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I know a thing or two about cats. I can certainly help. What do you say?"

"I say you must be out of your damn mind!" Russel shouted, trying to kick the woman off him. She refused to let him go and ran her hand up the inside of his thigh.

"What's going on in here?" A tall, lanky, stick figure of a man sauntered into the room. He swayed back and forth with each step he took. Disheveled blue spiky hair, large bloodshot eyes with beady pupils, pale skin, a dirty doctor's coat painted in blood, crooked and uneven teeth. He looked like an insane person. His eyes fell on the two one the floor. "And did you play with him behind my back? Because if you did, I swear."

The woman stood up and approached the man, smoothing out her skirt. "Me? I'd never do that! You know me, Stu. You're the only man for me!"

"What?" Stu raised his voice. "Take your mask off, Paula. I can't understand you when you wear it that thing. Plus, I rather see your face."

"Alright, alright." Paula said then removed the gas mask from her face. She shook her head and lazily fixed her ruffled short brown hair. Her deep red lipstick was smeared across her thin lips and her auburn eyes were glossy under the bright light. "I was saying you're the only man for me."

"Good, good…" Stu replied, mostly to himself. Was he trying to convince himself she was telling the truth? "You better not play with the food, he'll feed us for months. It took so long to drag him from the van down here without any help, you know. " Paula hurried out the room and Stu watched her go. Seconds passed and Stu's head snapped towards Russel. His lips were parted like a snarling beast. "You dirty bastard. You're trying to take my Paula away from me in my own home?" He stepped forwards and leaned down, his face almost touching Russel's. He could smell the intense scent of blood on his breath. "How rude of you."

"Like I want your creepy ass girl!" Russel retorted.

"Stop lying!" Stu yelled and he stomped the heel of his shoe into Russel's crotch. Russel winced and sucked in air through tightly clinched teeth on impact. "I know what you're up to." Stu started pacing in front of him, his hands shook nervously as he held them. "You keep staring with those stupid white eyes. Staring, staring, and staring." Stu stopped and stared at Russel. "You want her, don't you? You think you can take her from me? Well, I got just the thing for you." Stu said rather too cheerful.

He dug around through a moldy cardboard box next to the table full of tools and came back to Russel, holding a small bottle.

"It's lye," Stu explained with a toothy grin on his face. "I usually use it to break down bones but you left me no choice. I have to keep you from looking at my Paula. I have to keep her. You won't need your eyes, or your face, much longer. Paula won't want you anymore if you're ugly."

His gangly fingers kept Russel's eyelids open as he poured the contents of the bottle directly on his eyeballs. Stu clung to Russel as he struggled to turn his head away, pouring every drop of clear liquid. The lye took no time to start agonizingly burning Russel's eyes and the skin on his face. Stu let him go and threw the empty container aside. Russel squeezed his eyes shut but it only made the pain intensify. He rubbed his face against his arm in a frenzy, trying and failing to relieve the growing pain.

"I have to keep her. She's all mine. Mine…" Russel heard Stu mumble before he heard his footsteps exiting the room. He could hear the meows of a cat in the distance as he continued rubbing his face on his sleeve.


	7. You Are Dead

The soft meows of a spotted cat rang out through the quietness of the dirty basement. He paced back and forth in the rusty cage that was his prison, which swayed upon much larger cages. His dark eyes narrowed and his mind focused on one thing: escape. He pawed at the padlock that kept the cage door shut tight. This was a moment he wish he had thumbs. His cage rocked some more and an idea formed inside his head. It was the perfect escape plan. He walked to the back of the cage then charged forward, ramming his shoulder against the door. The door did not budge but instead, the cage toppled over the edge and shattered on impact with the floor. The cat picked himself up from the metal rubble and trotted into the back room to his left. He jumped on top of a locker then to a shelf close to the ceiling filled with hamster cages. A hole in the wall caught the cat's eye. Another exit from this dreadful place? He looked at the man attached to a pipe below him and squeezed his body into the hole. He had to find a key to the man's shackles. He could not leave here without him.

"Hey there, handsome." Russel heard Paula say to him but he didn't move or speak to her. Maybe she would think he was dead. "I see my Stu brought the lye…again. Shame, really." He swore heard her giggling under her breath. "We could have been a thing. He does this every single time. Trust issues, I think it is. Or jealousy. Well, there's plenty more fish in the sea. I'm not fussy when it comes to men, but even I have standards. And I wouldn't mess with someone who looked like the victim of a nuclear explosion."

Her statement made Russel flinch in anger. He wanted to give her a piece of his mind but right now, he wasn't in the position to do so.

"But I don't want you to think I'm not a kind gal," she continued. "There's plenty of time before dinner and you're in pain. So, I brought a little something from Stu's gun collection to end your suffering. Think of it as an option. There's one bullet in the chamber, large caliber. You'll be dead before you could feel a thing." Russel heard the gun's chamber spin then the sound of metal being set on a hard surface. The table nearby, perhaps. "Feel free to use it. That bullet is meant for you, anyway." She went silent but spoke up again. "I better get out of here. Don't want to get caught red-handed again, now do we? You naughty boy…" Her heel steps echoed as she left the room then white noise filled in where the steps had trailed off.

Russel was all alone in the darkness, His eyes were nothing more than jelly in his sockets now and his face was covered in third degree burns that oozed clear fluid. He passed out from the initial pain of the chemical eating away at his flesh and eyeballs. Most of the burning subsided. The nerve endings in his face probably been destroyed also. The handcuffs clanged against the hallow pipe as Russel tried again to break his binds. He stopped his attempt and sighed in frustration. Struggling was futile. He just didn't have the energy to fight anymore, no more will to deal with the handcuffs. They were toying with him. With the melting of his face and putting the only means of relief just out of reach. These cannibals were getting pleasure from his suffering. All Russel could do now was to sit and wait for his end.

The passage was wide enough for the cat to walk through comfortably. It had to be a broken air duct. Light filtered in from the end of the dark tunnel and he pushed his way out. The duct looked like it lead to another room in the basement since most of the walls lacked drywall or insulation. A locker packed with rifles, shotguns, and pistols was left wide open on one side of the room with a chair next to it. It was enough firepower to arm a personal army. On the other side of the room was a key rack which had a small key hanging on it. The key didn't appear to look like a key that would fit a door, but for a lock simpler than a door lock. The cat curved his paw like a hook and snagged the key up.

As he stuffed the key into his mouth, the door swung open. He got down on his belly, just out of sight, when the woman strolled in and took a seat in the chair. She picked up a shotgun and a dirty rag from the floor and began to clean the surface of the weapon. The cat tip-toed pass the woman's head when she leaned over to pick up the rag again and he jumped back inside the vent. Another trek through the tunnel and he was back in the other room. He spat the key out into Russel's hand and ran for the exit. He couldn't stand being in this nasty place for one more second.

Russel flinched when the key landed in his hand. "A key? Who are you? Answer me!" He shouted into the darkness but received no response. Whomever was there wanted to help him but why? It didn't matter right now. The key was a small glimmer of light through his blindness. With a lot of fiddling, the handcuffs clattered on the floor and he was free. Well, free from being locked up to a pipe. He was still trapped in a place with two hungry cannibals and still very blind. There was only one choice he had gain back his sight: to die again.

Russel took an unsure step forwards, feeling his surroundings to verify his general location. That woman had left a gun just for him but where was it? Russel's hand brushed against a metal object, knocking said object to the floor. He scrambled about on his hands and knees for it, praying that no one heard him. Though he was in a rush to find the gun, he didn't expect to find it immediately. His fingers curled over the gun, raised it up to his head, and pressed the cold barrel to his right temple.

Russel could feel his hand trembled as his finger hovered over the trigger. "I-I'm sorry, Noodle. I have to break my promise…" he whispered. Russel took a deep breath in, and pulled the trigger.

"Hope you don't mind creepy posters?" Noodle said, watching Russel look at the posters she tacked up on the walls.

Posters of horror games, people breaking away from their physical forms, and zombie films posters covered the walls. It would be a creepy site to someone but Russel was unfazed by them. "I prefer this to fairies, rainbows, and pink unicorns," he commented. "Did you make these?"

"No, my girlfriend did," Noodle answered, looking up at the posters with her hands on her hips. "Some of them, anyways. She bought me the movie posters though." She went to her bag on the bed and dug around through it. Her search produced a bottle of red wine. She held the glass bottle tight by its neck. "I happen to have this bottle of wine with me, Mister H," she said. "Shall we have a drink? We could got to know each other a bit more. You don't have to if you don't feel up to it. But since we're going to live together for a little while, it wouldn't hurt if we talk to each other. Will it?"

"Yeah. That's fine, I guess." Russel said, though he wasn't much of a wine person.

"Great! Now what we need are some glasses and a corkscrew." Said Noodle, naming off the items off on her fingers. "You don't happen to have a corkscrew, do you?"

"In the kitchen. I'll go get it." Russel said then exited the room. He kept the wine glasses in the cabinet by the piano. Dust caked only two wine glasses he owned. He hadn't had a drink since Cherry, and that was over 11 years ago. Russel ran warm water over the glasses while he searched through the cupboard for the corkscrew. Right beside the matches he used when the stove's pilot light went out was a regular, small handle corkscrew. He took it with him, turned the tap off, and dried the glasses.

"Here you go," said Russel, handing the corkscrew to Noodle. He held the glasses by the stems in his free hand. "Let's get that bottle open."

"Alright!" Noodle cheered and stuck the pointed end of the corkscrew into the bottle's light brown cork. "Oh, and Mister H? I really must say this before we start."

"Hmm?"

"I promise I won't slit your throat when you're asleep," she said with smile and pulled on the corkscrew. The cork came out with a low pitch, satisfying pop.

He chuckled at her comment, "Very funny, Noodle. Just so you know, I always sleep with my eyes open."

Noodle sat on the balcony railing with her back against the building. Russel stood nearby, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe. Both were silent as they took sips from their drinks.

"So, cancer…" Russel's voice broke the silence, looking down at his wine. He looked up at Noodle, who was staring back at him. "Want to talk about it?"

She took her time to answer, blinking slowly. "To be honest, I didn't really want to tell you about it like that. I put you in a very difficult position, I know. It's just that I was really desperate to get this room. I hope you can understand. This is the last and most important thing I must do before my time is up."

"It's fine," Russel replied. "You seem alright. It's just that I find it hard to trust people these days. Maybe it's time I opened my eyes to see others have problems too. Some, like yourself, are bigger than mine." He paused for a second then asked, "What kind of cancer is it? Do you mind me asking?"

"Brain tumor. Her name is Glioblastoma," she said.

"Her?"

"They're all girls, the way I imagine it." Noodle said. "Just look at their names. Lymphoma, Melanoma, Myeloma, Leukemia, Sarcoma: each of them a goddess of death. Beautiful and ruthless."

"Poetic, but you might just be right about that, Noodle. I used to work in the medical field. I know a few things about cancer and I know about Glioblastoma. A Grim Reaper with a pretty face." He took another sip of his wine, breaking their eye contact. He forgotten how bitter red wine tasted. "How long?" Russel asked after he swallowed the bitter drink.

"They said I had a year," Noodle said then shrugged. "But that was six months ago, so…yeah. They tried everything but nothing worked."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, so am I," she said in a whisper. "Let's talk about something else."

"Well, it's not raining anymore," Russel remarked. The endless downpour that lasted for the past several days had finally ceased. Everything was quiet expect for the occasionally dog barking. "That's good, to say the least."

Noodle looked over the old city and said, "I don't mind the rain, really. Sometimes, I like the rain. According to the forecast, there's a nasty fog coming. Now that's something I'm actually scared of. I got lost in the fog once when I was nine or ten. I remember I sat under a tree crying, thinking some monster would appear right in front of me and drag me away."

"But now that you're a big girl, you know there are no monsters." Russel said in a bit of a snarky tone.

"Yeah?" she said, looking right at Russel. "How do you know?"

"Because the only monsters are us." he stated. "Murderers, rapists, and arsonists. They're the real beasts. So far from humanity, they're no longer capable of feeling compassion or guilt. They're the ones we should really be afraid of. But whether they're lurking in the woods, fog, or darkness of our cellars; it's all irrelevant. You can't predict what happens. You can't do anything to stop it." He closed his eye slowly and gripped his glass tight. "They're only one way…" He opened his eyes and turned to Noodle. "You turn into a beast yourself and like them, you show no mercy…"

Noodle's eyes widened in amazement. "Where did that come from?"

Russel shook his head. "I just don't like murderers. They're nothing but…" He grimaced as the word fell out his mouth. "_Parasites_." He hated to admit it but the King of Maggot was right. It was the only word to describe them. And it was about time for him the change the subject. Murderers wasn't a great subject for idle chit-chat. "You mentioned you had a girlfriend. Tell me about her."

"Yeah, okay," she replied in a monotone voice. "Let's talk about her. She's dead."

Well, that was one way to drop the bombshell, Russel thought. No wonder she appeared so numb and out of touch with reality when talking about her. "Oh…" was the only thing Russel could say.

"Mister H, are you sure you want to listen about my miserable life?" Noodle asked. "I don't want to bring you down. These aren't happy stories…"

"And I'm not a happy stories kind of guy," Russel said. "I'm sure you've noticed by now."

Noodle looked away, down at the alleyways below them. She muttered, "I guess so…" She returned her focus to Russel. "Anyway, I suppose I would've had tell you about her sooner or later. After all, she's the main reason I'm here. I just don't know where to start…"

"She made those pictures on your wall. Was she an artist?"

"She always liked all kinds of morbid stuff, whether it be music, movies, or paintings." She stated. "So do I, really. We had that in common amongst other things. People say it's depressing to listen to sad songs or watch sad films but I never felt that way."

"And yet you're scared of the fog?" Russel asked with a hint of doubt in his voice.

Noodle scoffed, "Well, that's different. I might be scared of fog but I like spiders."

"You must be out of your mind, Noodle."

"

No, really! Hear me out." Noodle said, holding out her palms to him. "There's a certain indescribable beauty in sadness. Just like there's beauty in grey and ugly winter mornings when you look past the obvious and notice what others can't see."

"You must love my flat then," Russel commented. "It's like ugly took a vacation here and never went home ever again." He paused for a bit then continued talking, "How did she take the news about your cancer?"

Noodle chuckled dryly in response. "She thought I was joking at first. She laughed, then she started crying. I told her everything would be fine but she wouldn't believe me. She left that night but came back the next day; she was different. She begged me to try surgery and chemotherapy. I didn't really want those things. I did the chemo for her but it didn't help. It just made me feel sick all the time." She looked down at her hands for a moment then straight ahead again. "I felt trapped in this strange place, where nothing that happened around me seemed real. Maybe that's why I didn't see what my cancer was doing to her. And it was destroying her as well. She changed, obsessing over death. It seemed death was all she ever thought about, even though it was me who was supposed to die."

Russel was somewhat hesitant to ask his next question; it would have to come up at some point already. He held his tongue for a short moment then asked, "How did she die?"

Noodle leaned her head against the building and said, "She was so distant in the last few weeks before she died." He could hear the waves of sadness in the tone of her voice. "What I didn't know was that she kept looking for something. I don't think she knew exactly. But it found her eventually, or rather she found him."

She shifted her weight as she explained, "There are those forums online about all sorts of stuff, you know. Accidentally, she stumbled upon one about suicide. There's a guy on there that refers to himself as Hannibal. He's like a god on that forum. It's like a failed suicide club. People mostly try to help each other and offer support. Sometimes it helps to know there are others like you. But Hannibal is an advocate of death. He dwells on human weakness. His job is to give them a reason to die and tell them how to do it, once and for all."

Noodle looked directly into Russel's eyes and said in a low tone of voice, "She took the bait. Before she knew it, she was completely brainwashed." Her voice returned back to normal. "One day she sat down with me and tried to explain her perfect solution. It was the Romeo and Juliet kind of scenario. We both die together in each other's arms. It was supposed to be a quick and foolproof death, all thanks to Hannibal. All we needed were two easily accessible household chemicals, which combined together create a gas called hydrogen sulphide which kills you in minutes."

She shook her head. "I told her she was nuts, of course, but she wouldn't give up. She said she would get everything ready and wait for me in our special place at dawn. _Five A.M, don't be late _– Those were the last words she said to me. A few times I tried to persuade myself that I should do it but I just couldn't. I eventually fell asleep. I didn't plan on it. I woke up suddenly. I could see the sun rising out my windows and it was nearly five. I needed to stop her but somehow, I already knew it was too late."

She said, "When I arrived at our special place, it was already bright. We used to go there in the past, get wasted, smoke weed, and listen to Pink Floyd. Sometimes we even have sex in my old car. It was really just an old parking lot but it was special to us. After that day, I never gone there again."

Russel could picture himself at the abandoned parking lot the young woman spoke of. Quiet and safe; the perfect place for privacy. Lamps posts and old rotted out cars dotted the concrete area though one particular car stood out from the others left to rot. The black car was too new compared to the others and bright yellow signs were taped to the closed windows. 'Stop! Poisonous and Inflammable Gas Inside' – the signs read.

"I'm sorry. I think I understand now." He finally said, piecing together her story. "She loved you so much, she couldn't bear the thought of living without you. And that guy, Hannibal, I'm not surprised you want to find him. I know I would. I'm not sure if I should believe that you only want to 'talk' to him. But hey, that's none of my business."

Noodle nodded her head and replied, "Good to know, but I really just want to talk. I want to face her killer and tell him what he's done to me. The funny part is that he actually told me where he lives. He wants to meet me!"

"How come?"

"Hannibal is an internet troll, a hungry troll who craves attention." Noodle said then gave Russel a smug smile. "So I e-mailed him and told him I was a massive fan who loves his 'work'. He wouldn't believe me at first but I have a way with words and trolls are always hungry for more attention."

"Great," Russel commented. "I wish he'd given you his door number though."

"I'll find him sooner or later." She said. "I'm very determined. It took me three months to track this slug down. I'm so close…"

"What are those two chemical products?" Russel didn't know what compelled him to ask but it was good to know, perhaps.

Noodle stared at him, as if he had grown an extra head. She appeared very uncertain to answer but she finally replied, "Well…I'm not sure if you want to know that."

"I get it," Russel said as he left his place at the doorway. He set his empty glass on a piece of sheet metal he installed to sit the cats' food bowls and lit a cigarette. The cigarette's smoke mixed with the fog moving in as Russel exhaled. "You don't want to tell me because I'm a suicidal maniac. Is that it?" He asked. The icy tone of his voice could pierce even skin.

"No, Mister H! I didn't mean it like that!" Noodle snapped then sighed, "Okay, maybe to some extent. Just replace maniac with recovering victim. You've only just come back from the hospital. Whatever it was that made you do it, you proven you were capable of going through with it. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me."

"What if I promised you I will never do it again?"

"Hmm," she said, deep in thought. "All right. But if you don't keep your promise," Noodle hopped off the railing and stood face to face with Russel. "I'll find you in Hell and kick your lying ass for breaking my already broken heart."

"I don't think so," Russel countered. "You'll go to Heaven for sure."

He could hear her voice as he came around. The stench of old blood and rotting meat filled nostrils once again. _The recipe for this deadly cocktail is very simple. Any good housewife can make it in a blast…_ Russel sat up straight from the cold concrete floor, staring at the familiar surroundings that was his prison. He was a bit unsure as in what he should do now. Though escaping was the main order of business, he would get spotted by those wacky cannibal lovers at a moment's notice. Certainly they would kill him immediately unless he was clever and strike first. He had to survive. For himself and Noodle.


	8. Now or Never

No more hesitating, no more waiting. He couldn't stand the sight of the disgusting room for another minute. Stank air filled his lungs as he breathed in, relaxed his shoulders, and exhaled. Shame that the revolver only had one bullet, it would have made a great weapon. Certainly, it would dispatch his enemies in a swift manner. Russel peeked out the doorway and frowned at the thought as he scanned the next room. It's not like he liked killing people, he had to do it. All of it was for survival. He killed the parasites so he could live and no one less suffered. How many times did he have to tell himself that?

Not a soul occupied the room. Only animal cages and a warm, tiny draft flowing in from the other room across the way as he tiptoed in. A dim, white light shined down from the top of the wooden staircase from the first floor. He heard Paula mumbling in the other room. Looking through the crack in the door, he could see her sitting in a chair with her back to him, looking at a cabinet while holding a pistol and a rag. No way could he go up against a gun. The room had two places where air flowed into the room: the cracked door and a broken window boarded up badly with wood. The easiest solution without bloodshed would be to cover the airways and gas the woman.

But then another thought came to Russel. What if he didn't kill anyone? The place had to have a phone somewhere. It was a house, after all. The police could handle those nutjobs and he could go home. The stairs creaked ever so loudly when Russel climbed up them. His heart almost stopped when he stepped on the top step and it let out the loudest, drawn out squeak. How Paula didn't catch or hear any of that amazed him. She was nuts but not the sharpest tool in the shed, it seemed.

The basement stairs lead up to the lit foyer, decorated in Victorian Era furniture, a grandfather clock and the staircase leading up to the bedrooms on the second floor. All of it was ruined by a thick film of dust and tons of cobwebs. It would probably have been a welcoming place if someone cleaned for a change and got rid of the death smell. Russel pulled back the dirty red drapes in front of the window, looking at the outside world. Grey fog was the only thing he could see, even the front porch was being swallowed by the fog as well. There was no chance for him to get home in weather conditions like that. His only choice now was to find a phone and call the police.

He went through the first door he seen beside the cellar entrance and immediately got hit by another wave of death and rotting flesh. Empty wine bottles of different sizes and brands cluttered the counters along with plenty of dirty dishes stacked on top of each other. It really brought the trashy kitchen environment together. A rack of blunt knives hung on a wall above the slime covered sink. None of them were sharp enough to make a good weapon, if the need for one arose. An old style green refrigerator sat next to the kitchen exit leading to the dining area. The appliance had blood smeared across its doors and grimy handprints on its white door handles. It reeked of spoiled meat and milk. Russel didn't want to know what the real cause for the odor was.

The smell was amplified when he entered the dining room. A luxurious table set up in the center on the room, topped with a red tablecloth and candlesticks, was reduced to a trash heap by the cannibals. Filthy remains of past meals were scattered all over the table and floor with dirty plates and glasses. He couldn't expect cannibals to have table manners anyway.

The dining room broke off into another room. It was a storage room of sorts with a closed door at the back of it. Russel didn't venture through the door just yet. Instead, he went for a dented cardboard box tucked away in the corner of the room. The box was packed tight with white jugs of industrial grade bleach. He recalled that Noodle said something about bleach being one of the ingredients in that deadly gas recipe.

"First thing you need is a strong toilet bleach. You know the kind. Not just a regular bleach, but one that makes your eyes water and your skin itch. Next, you'll need some sort of pesticide. Like the ones farmers use on their crops. And a larger container with a lid to put the deadly mixture in it…"

Before she could continue, the yowls of distressed cats cut through their conversation. The fog had grown too thick for him to see what was going on in the streets below. Their yowls sounded like pleading screams. Noodle mentioned something about how the cats sounded exactly the same way when she found him. Some of her words where lost when he rushed out of the flat. Those cats were his livelihood or the little bit of his livelihood he had left. He couldn't let anything happen to them. A white van was parked outside of the complex. Pest Control in faded black paint was written on the side of it. Russel stepped off the stairs and he looked around. The yowling had stopped.

"Bloody fog. Can't see a thing."

He jumped at the voice, whipped around, and backed up. It was too close of comfort.

The man that the voice belonged to stood in front of Russel, leaning up against the railing. His beady eyes stared at Russel as he spoke again. "Someone could be getting murdered two feet away and not a soul would notice." He got up and moved pass Russel towards the van. "At least it's not raining. Gotta stay on the bright side of things."

Russel remained silent.

He faced the large man and asked, "Not the talkative type, are you? You must be Russel, huh? A real nice guy described to me what you looked like. He was spot on, I have to say." He opened up the back doors of the van and shuffled around in the interior. "I had a call about a cat problem," he said over his shoulder. "And some loon who's making it worse for everyone. A complete loon named Russel, so I've been told. So, you're coming with me on a little road trip."

Russel remember the man swinging around with something in hand then coming to in the basement with a throbbing headache. There was a gap in his memory after that. So much had happened in a short amount of time, Russel wasn't sure what to make of it. He only felt painfully numb to everything, probably from the depression. Then again, he rather feel numb than panicking at the moment.

Passing back through the dining room and kitchen, he didn't see a phone, cellular or land-line. There was a room on the first floor he hadn't gone to. The last room on the first floor was a small library with lack luster lighting like the rest of the house. Dusty bookcases filled with old books lined one side of the room and a desk sat on the opposite side.

On the desk was an old black rotary dial phone. It was a serious downgrade from what he was use to but it was better than nothing. Russel grabbed the receiver and put it to his ear. A dial tone rang back to him. It was actually connected. His index finger stuck in the dial's hole and he pulled the plastic around until it came to a stop against the metal piece. After he entered the number, the phone ran for a moment before someone on the other line answered.

The monotone voice from a man greeted, "Police emergency line. How may I help you?"

Russel replied, trying his best to sound as desperate as he could, "My name is Russel Hobbs and I've been kidnapped by cannibals. They're going to eat me, I need someone to help me."

"What is your home address and post code, sir?"

"Does it matter?" said Russel. "I'm not there. I told you I've been kidnapped. I wouldn't be kidnapped in my own home, now would I?"

"I'm afraid I need your home address to confirm your identity, sir," the man replied.

Russel groaned and read out his information to the man very slowly. He probably would cause the man's head to explode if he talked too fast.

Short keyboard taps echoed through the white noise on the other end then the dispatcher spoke again. "You claimed you were kidnapped. Who's kidnapped you?"

He snapped, "I don't know who they are. They forgot to give me their names when they were, you know, kidnapping me!" then added, "Wait, the guy's animal control, drives a white van. And his wife seemed to be a nurse of sorts."

"You have been kidnapped by a married couple, is that correct?" The man's droning voice was making Russel both angry and bored at the same time.

"This isn't the kind of married couple that invites you to a damn dinner party! Don't you understand? I'm dealing with serial killers here!" he yelled. "Their home is covered in the blood and bones of humans and animals! I'm telling you, they eat them and I'm going to be next if you don't send someone!"

"Is this a case of family disturbance, sir? Do you know this married couple prior to the incident? Are you related?"

"No! When did I say anything that caused you to jump to that conclusion? Do I have to spell it out to you?" Russel said and began slamming his palm down on the table's surface as he continued talking. The items on the table shook as much as he did with anger. "I have been kidnapped. I do not know these people. I will get turned into a nice roast in the next hour or two if someone doesn't help me." He didn't know how many variations of the same thing he could say to this guy.

"You mentioned animal's blood," the dispatcher went on as if he didn't hear Russel at all. "Was this married couple cruel to animals? If so, I will put you through to Animal Welfare Services for this area. Would you prefer that, sir?"

"Of course I wouldn't!"

"Okay, please stay on the line." There was more sounds of keys being stroked in the background. Russel tapped his foot impatiently while he waited. It was taking all his all his mental energy to not lose it on this guy. The dispatcher came back on the line and said, "According to our records, you have very recently discharged yourself from the hospital. Are you undergoing treatment for any mental health problems?"

Russel shook his head, "No, it's not like that…"

"Please listen to me carefully," his voice got quieter and slower. "I can connect you with the on duty doctors at the hospital's mental health unit where you received care recently. They can help you. You just have to talk to them and explain what's on your mind."

There is was. Another dimwit stranger who believed he was just some insane person. "I'm not damn crazy!" he shouted in the receiver through a clenched jaw. He was so close to smashing the phone out of pure frustration. His voice quavered when he spoke again as he held in his rage, "S-so that's it then. You're not going to help me, are you?"

"We are not qualified to provide psychiatric help, sir," the man replied. "It's best if you contact your doctors. Would you like me to give you their number in case you prefer to call them yourself?"

Russel chuckled and answered, "Oh, don't bother. I'll take care of everything myself. Thanks for nothing," then he slowly returned the receiver back to its base.

He slumped back in the chair after his hand released the phone. The undisturbed layer of dust on the chair stirred in the still air from his movement. Plan A flew right out the window faster than he expected it to. His fingertips tapped against the desk as he stared forward into the nothingness. Thoughts churned in his head, trying to form some plan of action that would work in his favor. There wasn't a good chance to get the two together in a room to gas them both in time. He would have to get a little creative with eliminating them in a timely manner.

Out to the foyer again and backtracking to the dining room, Russel froze when he heard the creaking of a door beyond the room. Quickly, he ducked underneath the table and pulled down the tablecloth enough to hide himself. He watched in complete silence as he saw Stuart's legs pass by and disappear into the kitchen. There was some shuffling and angry grumbles then a door slammed in the distance. Russel peeked out from his hiding spot, down through to the other rooms. No one was there. He crawled out from under the dirty table and went back to the storage room. The closed door he seen before was now slightly ajar. A small beam of light seeped in from the outside world.

The door hinges gave a single squeak when Russel opened it all the way. The light that lit up the storage room now wasn't natural sunlight, but standing construction lights set up in the fenced in area. Along with the lights were several rusted tubs sitting in an overgrowth or weeds. The murky sludge inside each tub smelled; it reeked of dirt, melted fat, and petrol. An old, broken down lawnmower was partially submerged in one of the vats. The decomposing legs of some poor victim hung out over the side of another vat close to him. To the end of the backyard, an aged shed made of rusting metal and rotting wood beckoned him. It was a likely place to find some pesticide. A lovely sight greeted Russel as he entered the shed. Bloody meat of an unknown creature laid on a table in front of him with a sharp cleaver stuck in the table next to it.

_So he prepares the meat here, _Russel thought while he looked around the medium sized room. He faced the several shelves attached to the shed wall to his left side, staring at the items on them. More knives lined the shelves, nothing of real use to him. What really interested him was the black gas mask and the glass jar filled with a light brown liquid on the bottom shelf. The yellow sticker on the jar read _Pesticide__. And poisons all the animals he captures before chopping them up. _Russel took them both, left the shed, helped himself to a bottle of bleach, and went back to the dining room.

Something, a hunch perhaps, told him to slip back under the safety of the table. He followed his gut feeling and hid back under the table. Stuart walked by the table once more, heading back to his slaughter shed. As Russel got out from his hiding place, the painting on the wall in front of him fell off the wall and landed to the floor. He did need something to block that drafty window in the basement…

The inside of gas mask smelt of blood and sweat when he fitted it over his head. Paula was now fast asleep in her chair when he crept in with his chemicals in hand. A white plastic bucket with an orange lid by the door was perfect for mixing the liquids. The bleach and pesticide together filled the bucket half way. Russel sealed it tight with the lid. Using the bucket handle, Russel carried it closer to the slumbering woman and set it down by her.

It would take a minute for the gas to build up to a deadly level, so he waited as he stared at her behind the dark plastic covering the eye holes. He removed the lid after a few minutes passed and left the room, slamming the door close. Paula jolted awake from the noise. He heard her yelp from outside of the room. There was no place for the gas to vent now and Russel held the door, the only way out, closed. She banged on the door frantically and he felt her shaking the door knob for almost a minute, wheezing and coughing during the whole time. Then she banging and shaking grew weaker until it ceased altogether.

Russel let go of the door know and pushed open the door with a little more force than usual. Paula's body laid on the floor, blocking the door from opening completely. He kicked her body forward and stepped over her. The cabinet she was looking at, Russel opened up the metal door. It was filled with rifles, pistols, and automatics. All of it had to be enough weaponry to arm a personal militia. He chose a pump action shotgun of the rack from the others. A gun with power behind it could prove useful in the long run.

Russel turned to leave but stopped when the seemingly dead body of Paula stood there, blocking his path. She took a shaky step towards him, her chest heaved as she tried to take in poisoned air, and collapsed to the floor again. He nudged her arm with the gun. There was no reaction from her. He passed over her corpse once more and left the basement for the last time. One down, one to go.

The house was quiet as he walked through the world, more quiet than usual. His heavy breathing in the mask and the blood pumping in his ears were the only sounds he could hear. His grip tightened around the shotgun when he opened up the door to the backyard. Russel approached the shed with stealth and looked inside, readying his weapon. It was empty. The meat now hung from rusted hooks from the ceiling and the cleaver was gone. His body tensed and he turned around, his finger hovered over the trigger. Where did he go now? That cannibal couldn't have gone too far. He had to be somewhere in the house still.

Russel passed by one of the dirty vats and Stuart leapt out from the sludge with the cleaver high above his head. He faced Stuart and jumped back when Stuart swung the blade at him, barely grazing his chest. Raising the barrel up to his attacker, Russel squeezed the trigger. _BANG! _The shot rang through the echo chamber of the foggy forest. It hit the target at point blank range, catching Stuart square in the chest. The pellets tore through his clothes and the force of the shot sent him flying back into the sludge from once he came. Stuart's head slumped to the side and his body settled in the tub, but he did not release his cleaver. Even though blood seeped out from his chest and the corner of his mouth, Russel was on standby. All the things the bastard did to him, he had to make sure he finished the job.

Stuart coughed and lifted himself up by the edge of the tub. He gritted his together and glared up at Russel. "You…you…" he growled as he dragged his body closer. He raised his cleaver up again and said through wet coughing, "I'm going to chop you up…and let the crows feed off your insides." He swiped at Russel, only to miss when the large man sidestepped out the way.

Stuart fell over. His torso laid on the tub's edge and his arms hung out of the tub. The cleaver slipped out of his hand, joining the weeds as more backyard décor. He looked up at Russel and grinned, his eyes bloodshot and pupils dilated. He said while gasping for air, "Well, you win. Go on…and claim your prize…"

Russel pumped the shotgun, the empty shell from his last shot fell out of the gun and it landed in the weeds. He pushed the barrel into Stuart's forehead and dug it in the man's skin. He stared back, his finger shook over the trigger. Seconds passed without any action or movement. He wasn't afraid of this murderer but why couldn't just shoot the bastard already?

"What's wrong? Can't…finish the job, huh? Your 'moral high ground'…taken over already?" Stuart taunted and took the barrel in his hand. He cackled and hacked up blood. After his coughing episode was finished, he said, "You and I are the same, Russel. Even if you don't shoot me, I'll drown in my own blood. And you'll be a cold blooded, dirty killer just like m–"

_BANG! _Russel pulled trigger back tight. Skull fragments, brain matter, and strands of blue hair flew out from the back of Stuart's head. His blood mixed with the sludge his body waded in and ran down the sides of the tub. His head slipped under the murky surface and the mixture turned to a dark brown color. Russel tore the gas mask off and threw both it and the shotgun into another vat. He watched as they were slowly devoured by the thick, sludgy mess.

The fog was letting up when he stepped foot out of the old mansion. He could now see a direct dirt path going straight through the forest, the only way back home. Russel started walking, leaving the mansion to disappear beneath the years of foliage yet to come. No more cats or humans would feed those cannibals anymore. The fires of Hell certainly will welcome the crazy couple with open arms. What Stuart said to him, maybe he wasn't so different from him after all. Russel let those thoughts fade into the dark depths of his mind. It was going to be a long walk back home.


	9. Intruder Alert

It was dark again when he returned home. He didn't care what time it was exactly. The walk was long and tiring to say the least. All Russel wanted to do was to get off his feet, get out of his dirty clothes, and take a hot shower. When he reached the top of the stairs, Noodle was standing outside of the flat. She was pacing back and forth in front of the slightly ajar door. She noticed him on the spot and immediately approached him. The fright in her eyes was hard to mask behind her purple bangs.

"Mister H," she said; her voice almost a whisper. "I was worried sick about you. Are you okay? How did you get back here?"

She must have been searching outside the building for him. "I walked," he replied.

"You saw something in that fog. Something terrible, didn't you?" she asked.

With all the answers he could have given her, he went with something simple to describe his whole ordeal. "I saw monsters," Russel answered. "Scary, terrible monsters."

Not a second passed and Noodle was holding him in close for an embrace. For a moment, Russel stood with his arm out. He wasn't expecting something like this to happen. With all that happened to him during the past several days, he needed this; someone on his side for once. Russel wrapped his large arms around the smaller woman and hugged her tight. "I'm sorry I made you worry…" he muttered in her ear.

Their hug lasted for several minutes because neither wanted to let go of the other. But they couldn't remain standing in the middle of the hallway. They finally broke apart in understanding silence and quietly reentered the flat, closing the door behind them.

The bathroom called his name and the slightly disheveled state it was in was almost welcoming to him. This time, Russel believed that he deserved a warm bath instead of a hot shower. He needed a night of self-care for all the craziness he found himself in as of lately. He opened an old wooden cabinet and pulled out a small woven basket from its dusty depths. It was full of bath salts, body washes, and bath bombs colored in cute pastel colors that had collected a layer of dust. He hadn't touched the basket ever since he bought it ages ago. Tonight was the night to finally break in his little self-care kit.

The scent of lilac and lavender filled the entirety of the bathroom as Russel relaxed in the purple tinted warm water. For once in his life, he wasn't anxious or depressed. Not quite content with his life as of now, but it certainly beat being sad all the time or wrapped up in an anxiety attack. It felt nice to feel unburden by his emotions for a moment. He closed his eyes and sunk deeper into the water, almost dozing off in the tub. The world around him began to melt and bend together as the bath water its magic.

"Mister H," Noodle's voice pushed its way through the mental haze and Russel cracked open his eyelids. The woman was standing in the bathroom doorway, looking at him. "I need to ask you something. Can I come it?"

Russel sat up in the bathtub and knitted his eyebrows. "I'm kinda busy at the moment. Is it something important?" he asked.

"Very important," Noodle replied dramatically, "The fate of the whole world is at stake!"

"You can come in as long as your eyes don't wander other places…"

Noodle scoffed at his statement, "Mister H, I'm pretty gay. I had a girlfriend, remember? Guys don't really interest me, anyway. I think seeing you partially naked is pretty fine."

With a sigh, Russel gave in, "Fine, come in." He made sure his abdomen and below was hidden under the water. It wasn't that he didn't trust her; it was still odd for someone half his age just stroll in when he was in the bath. He realized that he never really asked for her age. She had to be in her mid to late twenties, give or take.

Noodle entered the room and stopped at the front right side of the old ivory bathtub. She placed her hands on her hips and smiled. "I'm cooking up some pancakes," Noodle said, "Thought we deserve a hot meal after all that happened. What do you want on yours? We have chocolate spread, strawberry jam, maple syrup; you have quite the collection hidden in your cabinets."

Russel perked up at the sound of food and his stomach growled in agreement. He hadn't had a good meal ever since the night he tried to kill himself. And the hospital food that the staff were feeding him wasn't real food to begin with. He was pretty much starving at the moment in time. "Oh, nice," he said, "Can't go wrong with pancakes. I'll take two of each, please."

Noodle laughed a bit and nodded her head. "Good choice because I made enough to feed a small army. I will let you get back to your bath now." She turned on her heels and exited out of the bathroom, giving him a wave goodbye.

With a drawn-out exhale, Russel sunk back down in the water and rested his head on the back of the tub. He closed his eyes once again and relaxed himself in the warm waters.

The smell of pancakes wafted in from the small kitchen, eliminating the slight mildew scent of the entire flat. Dirty dishes filled the sink, which Noodle was standing over and had started washing them. Russel sat at the small table by the large floor-to-ceiling window, parallel to the world outside of the flat. His plate in front of him had been empty for a while with a dirtied fork placed on top of it. It had been a long time since he had felt so full. Hell, it was ages since he had something as delicious as pancakes. He was so used to eating bland pre-packaged dinners that barely took any energy to make that he almost forgot what real food tasted like.

"Never have I had food or breakfast that good in years," Russel commented as he patted his stomach. He handed his plate and utensil over to Noodle, who took it and started cleaning them. "Where did you learn how to cook like that?"

"It's something my guardian taught me over the years," Noodle answered while she turned off the faucet and discarded the sponge. "He was the best at making food from all over the world. Though cooking up something as simple as pancakes was fitting." She then approached Russel's side and stared out of the window. A soft drizzle had settled in with the gray clouds hanging in the sky above. Noodle sighed, "Looks like we have gotten the rain back. I almost felt like something was missing."

"Do you think it will ever stop?" questioned Russel, looking out the window also. The way the raindrops hit the smudged glass and left trails as they fell. It was both sad and yet calming. "I mean, what if it doesn't?"

"Then it will rain for a million years…" Noodle said.

Together, the odd pair retired back to Noodle's borrowed room. The ugly lime green curtains fluttered in the damp breeze coming from the stuck, open window. Russel settled himself on an old wooded chair that could hold up his weight while Noodle sat herself on the bed. She had her laptop on the bed next to her with its screen open to a page that Russel didn't recognized. He wasn't up to date to the latest technology, so he was staring at a bunch of words and symbols that he had no idea what they were. Time had passed since he even used a type of computer.

"I'm not sure I get it," Russel said dismissively, "What's the point of that? And what did you say it was called again?"

Noodle groaned, "For the third time, it's called social network. Why is it so hard to remember?"

"I kinda find the whole idea really dumb," Russel admitted, "Why would I want to tell people that I'm having a shit day?"

"So maybe you would feel better for sharing it with your friends."

Russel looked away, casting his eyes down on the old carpet beneath his feet. "But I don't have any friends…"

"You wouldn't with that attitude," said Noodle.

He blinked and looked back at the luminated screen. "You, on the other hand, seem to have 274 of the them! How is that even possible?"

Noodle chuckled, "Well, what can I say? I am very likeable." She turned the laptop back to herself and began to type away on it. After a few moments, the young woman turned the laptop towards Russel and motioned to it. "I have created a profile for you. Maybe you will learn how to use it?"

"What am I going to do with it?"

She replied with a shrug, "Just look for people know. Invite them, talk to them. It's a good way to keep in touch. Maybe you could refresh some old friendships?"

Russel shook his head. "I don't know…" he said. "I can't think of any names. I probably never really cared enough about anybody."

"How about people you went to school with?" she suggested. "Your old colleagues from work?"

"Nope," Russel said flatly. "Friends: zero. At least they're right about one thing."

Noodle rested a hand on his knee and gave him a supportive smile. "I will add you later. That will be a start."

Holding two hot cups of coffee in each hand, Noodle entered the tiny living room from the kitchen. She set a black mug on the far end of the table. Sitting herself down on the opposite end of the table, Noodle took a slow sip and then rested her mug on the table. She noticed Russel leaving his room and smiled up at him.

"I made us some coffee," Noodle said, pointing to the mug across from her. "Sit down and talk with me for a bit. I could use the company."

"Sure," Russel responded, "Coffee sounds good." He did enjoy a good pot of coffee from time to time. His body relaxed as he sat down in the matching old chair and he drank from his favorite black mug. Dark and strong; just how he liked it. Noodle must have been a mind reader if she knew how to make his coffee.

It was night once more outside the next to the table. The aged, cream colored curtains waved in the light, cool breeze. Russel barely noticed the change in daylight from yesterday. He had been trying to get sleep for the last 12 hours, resulting in him tossing and turning for an unknown amount of time. He already used up his sleeping pills and he was definitely wasn't getting prescribed that medication for a long time. He wasn't sure how long Noodle was awake, but it seemed for a while.

Russel set his mug down; the cup was halfway empty now. "What's bothering you, Noodle?" he asked.

"Well," Noodle said, blinking slowly. "I'm not sure how to get started with this thing. I've been thinking about it the last few days and I just don't seem to get any good ideas." She frowned, "Maybe I have been a fool all along. Deluding myself that I could find where that sick bastard is hiding."

"Maybe I could help?" Russel suggested then dug around in his pants pocket. He took out a folded piece of paper, unfolded it to its full size, and set it down on the table in front of her. "I have plenty of free time, you know. So, I drew up a map of the building and all its 4 floors. There are two flats for each floor."

Noodle seemed surprised. "You really want to help me?" She then clasped her hands together. "That's great, Mister H! How will I ever repay you for this?"

"I'll think about that later," Russel grabbed a ball point pen from the table. "But we haven't found him yet, have we?"

"No, but I have a feeling that together we stand a chance." She took another sip from her mug. "So…let's talk about it. What do we know already?"

Russel replied, "For starters, we live in the middle of the building, in Flat 4." He wrote down _Russel and Noodle_ in neat, cursive handwriting. Then he looked up at the ceiling above their head. "And I know a rude, teal skinned mechanic lives in Flat 6, the one above us. I told you about him, didn't I?"

"He's that guy who came complaining about the noise, right?"

"Yep, that's Kurt." Russel said his name with disgust. He didn't want to waste his breath on a man like him. "I heard someone else in the flat with him from time to time. But that all I know about him. I try my best to avoid him."

"I'm pretty sure one of the bottom flats is empty…" Russel continued, scribbling down his words on paper. "And a married couple lives next door."

Noodle straightened her back in the chair. "Yeah? What do you know about them?"

"I know that the man goes by the name of Incredibox," he said, "Strange, right? I think it's just a stage name, like for a rapper or DJ or something. Never gotten his real name. He seems alright; a quiet guy. But I heard shouting a couple of times and he sounded like a different person. Like a madman, you know. They must have some serious relationship problems and they try to sort it out behind closed doors. It's impossible to hide this personal dirt from your neighbors." Russel drank from his mug as he glanced to the side. "But that's none of my business…"

"And the wife?"

"Jenny," Russel recalled, "Or was it Stacy? I can't remember right now. Anyway, she's very polite. Always says hello to me when we pass each other in the hall."

"Anything else?" asked Noodle.

"They used to have a cat named Lucifer. I wonder what happened to the little guy. He had the blackest of fur and these bright yellow eyes…"

"Mister H, focus."

"Oh, sorry," Russel apologized, and then he continued speaking, "There's an old man in Flat 5, opposite to Kurt's place." He knitted his eyebrows in deep thought. "There are strange noises coming from Flat 7 though."

"Interesting. What kind of noises?"

"Like screaming," he described, "Explosions and gunfire. Then there are threats and insults shouted loudly at someone."

Noodle was quiet for a moment in thought before speaking up again. "I think I might know what is going on there. But it is worth checking anyway. Do you know the person who lives in that flat?"

"Not the slightest idea. Sometimes, I hear a dog barking on the first floor though. And there's a woman and a baby living upstairs."

"No husband for the mother?" she asked.

Russel shook his head. "I'm not sure. I hardly ever see her. When I do, it's usually in the hall when she's pushing a pram with her baby inside. She always had tons of shopping handing from it. I nearly asked her once if she needed to carry it upstairs…" His voice trailed off as he eyes wandered. He then returned his sight on Noodle and said, "I think that's all I know at the moment." What Noodle said next caught him off guard.

"You mentioned a pram…" she said, "Reminds me that I had found an old baby pram in my bedroom among all the stuff. Do you have children, Mister Hobbs? You never talk about it."

Russel froze in place and his mug hovered over his still lips. He recollected himself then drank the rest of his lukewarm coffee. "Why do you want to know?" he questioned sternly.

"I'm just curious," said Noodle. She leaned back in her chair and grasped her mug in both hands. "I like meeting new people and getting to know them. I can tell there is some dark secret you have been keeping to yourself for a long time." Her lips upturned into a comforting smile. "You might feel better if you share it with someone."

He rejected, "You don't want to know about my problems…"

Her smile transformed into a frown. "I just really want us to be friends," Noodle said, "I swear I could use one…"

"I'm not very good at friendships. I thought that was damn obvious!" Russel slammed his mug down and the table shook. Noodle didn't even flinch.

"Friends should trust each other. That is why I told you everything about me." A wave of sadness washed over the woman's face. "Why can't you just do the same?"

Russel pointed a finger in her direction. "You told me all that stuff because you wanted to! I didn't force you, did I? My private stuff is nobody else's business!" He immediately got up onto his feet and spoke to no one in particular, "Why does everyone want to remind me of this all of a sudden? Isn't ten terrible years of suffering enough to let go and never bring it up again? Even…" he closed his eyes and released a breath he held on to. "Even for me?"

Russel then shuffled pass Noodle, heading towards the kitchen. He was tired, tired of the memories and tired of people's prodding inside his head. Were they just waiting for him to fall apart again? He stopped in the doorway connecting the living area and the foyer when he heard something hit the floor.

"Mister Hobbs, I'm so sorry," he heard Noodle apologize to his back. "Your mug, it was an accident, I swear."

Russel glanced over his right shoulder. His favorite mug was gone just like that. He said, "You know what? Just leave it. I don't even care anymore."

There were a series of hard knocks on the front door, which Russel was heading towards. He cursed under he breath; he wasn't expecting anyone to come over and he certainly didn't want to see Kurt's ugly face at that time. "Who is it?" he called out bet received no answer. He hoped it wasn't some prank. Russel opened the door and what he saw surprised him.

Before him was the most beautiful bouquet of various types of flowers he had ever seen. The man holding the bouquet was a middle-aged man with greying long hair and matching ragged beard hung on to a thin, frail face. He wore dirty, white sleeveless shirt and paint covered old jeans. This man didn't look like the type of person to be delivering flowers door to door. He stepped into the flat without saying a single word and Russel backed up automatically.

"Flowers?" Russel said with a raised brow. "You got the wrong place, man. I didn't order any kind of flowers…" It was then he realized that the man held something in his free hand; something metal and shiny.

Russel backed up again as the man brandished a pistol pointed right in his face. He dropped the bouquet to the floor and brought his booted foot down upon it, grounding the pedals into the carpet. His finger rested on the trigger. Russel turned around to flee deep into the flat and warn Noodle, but the man pulled the trigger without hesitation. The 10 mm bullet pierced Russel in the back of the head, shattering his skull into pieces and exiting out from between his eyes. He was dead within seconds and his heavy body collapsed onto the floor in a heap.

The close cawing of a crow caused Russel to stir from his unnatural slumber. His white eyes cracked open and he rose to his feet. The crow, perched on a barrel, outstretched its black wings and it flew out an open door leading to the outside world. Where Russel stood, it appeared he was located inside of a ship. The entire inside was made of metal. Old paint peeling away revealed rusting metal. An old oar rested against a wall near the entrance and dirtied metal barrels filled with boat parts and junk where scattered around the area. There were four places he could go to; outside, the two doors within the ship, and a dark doorway that led deeper inside the ship. Russel knew where he was again: another part of the world of the dead. Russel delegated to search deeper in the bowels of the ship.

The environment changed as soon as he passed the threshold. It was his own living room but in a state of complete disarray. The cabinets were broken with its doors swinging at the hinges. His piano appeared to be elevated off the ground by the uneven floor underneath it. Pass the piano, the walls of his living room turned into human skulls stacked upon each other. Dust and cobwebs decorated the skulls; what a macabre scene to see. Russel walked further into the room, noticing his old table, the broken mirror, and the spare bedroom. The living room ended at an unmoving wall of skulls where it would lead to his bedroom. The spare bedroom was locked.

_This room_, Russel thought. _Why did it have to be that room_?

He didn't want to deal with it, so he retraced his steps. He couldn't go back from where he came because a wall of skulls appeared before him to block his path. He pressed his body against it, but the wall was too strong for him to push inwards; he needed a weapon of sorts to break down the wall. He then returned to the middle of the room where the mirror and coffee table stood.

A glimmer under an old, torn piece cloth on the table gained his interest. He lifted the grimy tablecloth and found a butcher knife under it, which he took along with him. Knives were useful. The sharp knife reminded him of the Alfred Hitchcock film Psycho. The infamous shower scene scared the hell out of him when he was a little boy. Perhaps it wasn't smart to show a child that movie…

A secret panel in the back of the mirror was too small for his thick fingers to pry open. Russel wedged the tip of the knife into the tiny gap between the panel and the wall, popping the drywall panel off with ease. Hidden in the compartment was a lever and a small key. He knew the key was for the spare bedroom and he pulled the lever down. The wall near the frame of the mirror crumbled away to reveal the same sharp pipe he used to kill Doctor N with. He brought it with him, just in case. Then he unlocked the spare bedroom with the key and…

He was back in the candle room in the King of Maggots' home. He knew this song and dance already. Russel approached a lit candle and blew out its flame without a single thought about it. He returned to the stranger version of his living room; the door closed shut behind him and locked itself once again. Done with the room, Russel began to exit the room, but he soon remembered the skull wall blocking his way. Taking his pipe weapon in hand, Russel stabbed the wall and pushed down on it with all his weight. The wall creaked fell apart, leaving behind a large enough hole for him to fit through. He crawled into the hole which returned him to the inside of the ship.

One of the doors, much older than the ship itself and a different type, was locked up tight with just an old padlock. Somehow, Russel knew the lock's combination and entered the numbers 384 into the spinning dials. The dials stuck fast on their correct numbers and the padlock unlocked with a click, hitting the floor with a thick _THUD_.

Inside the room was filled with heavy machinery compared to the same machine that he saw in the shed the first time he entered the realm of the dead. Everything was painted a rustic orange-red and smelt of iron and copper. There were strange panels attached to the floor with the main panel at the end of the room, nearby to the complicated machine. A long, horizonal mirror on the wall showed his reflection but he wore different clothes than the clothes he wore now, as if it was his doppelganger from the past. It didn't follow his movements unless something physical made him move. Like a heavy section of machinery threatening to crush. While messing with the panels, Russel pushed down a lever and a section of the ceiling dropped in the reflection. His doppelganger stepped forward to avoid the falling machine. He knew what he had to do here in this place. More of his own blood had to be spilt to start the machine to power…what exactly? He didn't know. He couldn't see where the machine's power led. He just knew he had to get the power going.

Russel alternated between lever pulls to slowly lead his doppelganger closer and closer to the dangerous machine. At the end, his doppelganger was directly next to the machine and Russel pushed down the lever for the main power panel. A massive circular sawblade shot out from a section of the machine and his doppelganger's face filled with shock and terror. His attempts of fleeing were in vain as the blade sliced right through his body vertically. Blood sprayed like a fountain onto the machine as he was reduced to a pile of meat. As the blood droplets splattered on the metal surface and the machine roared to life as it did in the shed a week and a half ago. Two rooms down, one more to go.

The unlocked room beside the machine room was almost the same to the other room. Another long, horizonal fixated in the wall showed another one of his doppelgangers in the reflection. This doppelganger wore a hospital gown and wobbled with every step Russel took, as if he was medicated with sedatives, following him. Also, in the mirror was a spider-like monster which was frightening because it looked somewhat like himself as it tore away at bleeding wounds. Russel stood in front of the monster, which made his doppelganger stand before it. He took the kitchen knife in hand and stabbed the air before him. The doppelganger raised his own knife over his head and plunged it into the monster. The spider monster let out a deafening screech as blood spurted out of its body then it collapsed into nothingness on the floor. The lights faded out and as the lights came back on, Russel's doppelganger appeared right by his side, tangible and living.

The doppelganger looked completely out of it. His eyes were glazed over, greyed out pupils stared through him. His shoulders were slumped and drops of drool fell from his slightly ajar mouth. Russel knew obviously that his doppelganger wouldn't be up for idle conversation.

Russel exited from the room and the ship with his doppelganger in tow. The world of the dead looked more livelier with the blue sky overhead and white, puffy clouds floating by. What a strange place this was. The wood creaked underneath both men as they walked together down the length of the old dock. Rotting dingeys and rowboats littered the waters around the dock, abandoned and left tied down. Al the dock's end was an elevator that hung over the ocean's dark surface with a red flashing light over it. A sign next to the elevator read that the minimum passenger handling was only 2. How bizarre was that? Russel stepped inside the elevator and so did his doppelganger; the light above turned from red to green.

"Goodbye, other world," he said, and he pushed the lever down and the elevator door locked shut in response.

The elevator shook as it lowered itself into the dark, cold waters. Deeper and deeper underwater the elevator dived, the more the metal box around him rattled as if it would fall apart at any moment. Russel hoped it stayed in one piece until he reached the land of the living again. The sound of metal creaking interrupted his thoughts. The noise grew loud and the elevator began to collapse on itself. He backed away to the middle of the elevator. Shit, he forgot all about something technical like the ocean's pressure. As the pressure was building, the elevator completely collapsed on itself. It crushed Russel between sharp pieces of metal.


	10. Recollection

The real world faded in around him within a messy kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. Russel's head spun like a crazy merry-go-round as he attempted to gather himself. His own dried blood caked the front of his face were the bullet exited from his forehead. He blinked several times for the fog in his eyes to disappear but soon was confused of his location. His body laid propped up in his bathtub in the bathroom. How the intruder managed to move his heavy dead body was a mystery to him. Russel tried to get up or move his limbs but found himself unable to. His eyes casted downwards to his hands and feet, only to find his limbs bounded together with duct tape. The tape wrapped completely around his hands and feet, trailing up to his forearms and calves. He struggled to break the tape with pure strength alone, but it was futile as the tape didn't budge.

"Mister Hobbs?"

Russel lifted his head and saw Noodle sitting on the other side of the bathtub. Just like him, her hands and feet were bounded also. She stared at him with wide eyes. "I-I thought you were dead!" she managed to stammer out. "I saw that man shoot you right in the head!"

He chuckled, "Me? Dead? Nah, I'm a tough old guy. Takes more than a bullet to bring me down."

"How is that even possible –"

"Stop asking questions," Russel snapped. "We don't have time for that." He blinked slowly and tried his best to relax himself in this kind of situation. "Let's just calm down."

Noodle nodded her head, uncomfortably shifting herself against her binds. "Yeah. Okay, I can do that." She motioned her head towards the rolls of duct tape on the floor. "He had a lot of tape with him. I tried breaking it but to no luck."

"So did I,"

"Do you think he's going to kill us?" Noodle said in an almost whisper.

"Of course not!" Russel blurted out loud. He soon calmed down and sighed, "No, he won't. Don't worry. I'll figure something out. Let's just wait for him to come back. Sooner of later, they always make a mistake…"

"Mister H," Noodle said, staring intensely at him. "I'm sorry I had upset you earlier. I shouldn't have pushed you so hard. And I'm sorry about the mug too."

It was funny, Russel thought, that she was still thinking about that silly mug even through this ordeal. She was a strange one, Noodle was. "It's alright. Water under the bridge," he said calmly. He then frowned. He had been too hard on the girl ever since they met. Plus, abrasive and depressing. He was surely a mess of a human. Why did she find him as a friend? The silence between them grew; he had to say something to break it. Then Russel knew exactly what to say.

"I used to like flowers, you know," Russel said, staring at area over Noodle's shoulder. For some reason, he couldn't meet her eyes at that moment. "Like everyone else. There was this guy, I should have told from the start I wasn't interested. But I didn't at first. Maybe I was interested in a way, probably. Flattered would be a better word. It was about ten years ago. I can hardly remember him now. He did that thing every week, because he knew Cherry was at work and I was in the flat alone. So every Friday night, I would get flowers by the courier.

"Who's Cherry?" Noodle asked, now interested. "Your partner?"

Russel replied flatly, "Cherry was my wife. She was a singer at a local pub. Worked every day and I used my vacation days to stay home. Coco, our daughter was only six months old at that time. Actually, five months and twenty-eight days to be exact. She would be eleven by now." He shook his head, unable to gesture with his hands. "Anyway, that one Friday evening's courier had delivered a big bouquet of these beautiful lilies. Usually, I would have thrown them away or assumed they were from one of Cherry's fans. But it was addressed to me directly and I really like them somehow. They looked very expensive. I stared at them for the longest time, I didn't even hear the phone ring at first. I knew it was from him…"

Talking about the past felt like Russel was taking a painful trip down memory lane. He closed his eyes, inhaling then exhaling slowly. That evening came rushing back to him…

Russel, now ten years younger, had finished closing the door after paying the courier his payment for the delivery. The flat was in better shape than it was in the present, though the ugly paint on the walls and doors was still chipped. Strangely, his red button-down shirt was one of the two colors that stuck out in the gray of the stale memory. The other color being the white of the beautiful lilies that sat in a clear glass vase on a side table. He couldn't help but to stare at them. Their smell wafted nicely through the mildew of the flat.

He stepped closer to the flowers and noticed a card attached to the vase. Russel picked up the card and read the note written on its back: _'Just for consideration. – J' _

Russel furrowed his thick brows and reread the small note several times. Oh, of course they were from him. Almost on cue, the old corded phone on the wall nearby rung. Putting the card down on the table, he went over to answer the frantic ringing. When he walked towards the phone, there was faint whispering that his ears couldn't make out.

"Hello?" he said after picking up the receiver and putting it to his ear.

"Hope the flowers found you well," a male's voice replied without responding to the greeting. "I made sure that they were your favorite…"

Russel looked at the lilies again then turned his back to the flowers. He knew the man on the other line all too well and he scowled. "I told you not to send me anything," he said. _Liar_, the whispered repeated over and over again in his head.

"I couldn't resist," the man said, "I couldn't get you and your music off my mind, mate." Before Russel took the role of a househusband, he played in a small band with a few friends along with working as a nurse. It was that time when a man approached him with a music deal, but Russel declined every time. Only this time he got bold again and sent him something to his home once more. "It just kills me that you're not in my band. You know I would do anything to have your skill with me."

"Jimmy," Russel said the man's name. Oh, how it felt so disgusting on his tongue. "I got a family now. I'm not seeing you again. I told you several times and you can't sway me with pretty flowers. There is no deal and I'm not joining your band. That's final. My daughter needs her father and I'm not putting your shit music over her. Take a hint and read the room."

"But-but sometimes doing crazy things can change your life for the better!" Jimmy stated in a weaselly voice, "Joining my band would set you for life. Coco and Cherry wouldn't have to worry about a single thing when you're with me." He chuckled, "Uncle Jimmy has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"Stop trying to wedge yourself into my life," Russel said, "Give it up now."

"I can't never give up on you, though…"

"Goodbye," said Russel and he finally hung up the phone on him.

A shiver run up his spine and he shook his body. Russel hated the guy ever since he met him weeks back. He had taken it too far with the flowers. But… Russel face the flowers and stepped towards them. The lilies were very nice and tossing them away would such a waste. Yet, he couldn't let Cherry know about that band deal and Jimmy in general. Russel tore the card up and threw the pieces in the waste bin. Out of sight, out of mind. He then picked up the vase of lilies and went into Coco's room.

"There's my baby girl," Russel said as he walked up to the solid oak crib in the middle of the medium sized room. He peeked over the crib's bars and smiled. Looking up a him with dark brown eyes was Coco. Her skin was light brown and her cotton candy blue hair was tied up into two, tiny puffy ponytails. She was swaddled tight in her favorite yellow blanket. "I got something pretty for your room," he said and lifted the vase up for his daughter to see. Coco cooed and squirmed at the sight of the flowers, seemingly curious.

Russel sat the vase of flowers on top of a small dresser next to the only open window in the room. The lilies went nicely with the white nursery. Maybe getting unwanted flowers wasn't too bad in the end. He winded the crib's mobile, gave the baby a kiss on the forehead, and left the room. It was then when he heard the front door slam shut. It had to be Cherry, back from work. Though it was several hours later than the usual time she got off. Strange. When he reached the front door, she was hanging her purse upon the coatrack.

Russel stood in the doorway leading from the front entrance to the living room. "You're home late. Did something happen at work?" he asked, somewhat worried.

Cherry had a look on her face that he couldn't pinpoint her mood. It was something between neutral and irritation. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Let's hear that again. '_Did something happen at work_?' Why, yes, Russel, something did happen at work. Did you even watch the television or listen to the radio? Or did you keep yourself cooped inside as you always do?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed. Great, she was in an after-work mood again. All he could do now was ask questions and hope to get some sort of answer. "What happened, Cherry?" he asked, a bit firmer. "Just tell me what wrong, okay?"

The short and stocky woman scoffed and she threw her arms up in the air. "It was those damn terrorists again, in our country, of all places! Can you believe it?"

His face dropped. "So…there was a bombing?"

"Of course," she replied, "At a restaurant. There is chaos spreading throughout the city. Everyone is panicking. The police and army are everywhere." Cherry looked up at him directly in the eye. "But you don't even care, do you, Russel?"

Russel was taken aback. "Of course I care! I had no idea!"

"You need pay attention to the world around you, Russel. You need to stop living inside your head every moment of the day. I could have died, and you would have been none the wiser!"

"Did you get hurt in any way?"

Cherry let out a heavy, tired sigh then shook her head. "No, not really. But the car is a bit smashed from the blowout. There was a pause in her speech and she moved her gaze to the floor. "There was smoke and broken glass everywhere. Clouds so thick you couldn't even see a bloody thing. Even the pub's windows got blown out from the blast. I thought this night was going to be the end of the world…They closed all the main roads, I had to get the car towed and walked all the way home."

"When did it happen?" he asked.

Cherry answered, "Around six PM."

It was half past nine now. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I did," she said through her teeth. "I tried four times. You didn't pick up."

Russel closed his mouth. The only time he heard the phone was when Jimmy called to annoy him. It wasn't like the phone was quiet or anything. "I must have been…" he began to say.

"Busy with the baby," she completed the sentence. "Yeah, yeah. It's the same old story every time." Immediately, Cherry change the subject. "Do we still have that wine in the fridge? Get the glasses. I need a drink."

"Fine," said Russel with a nod of his head. He understood the stress she was dealing with. "You go get the wine."

Both adults turned their backs on each other and went their separate direction. He grabbed the wine glasses from off the cabinet shelf and that was when the phone started to ring. He went over to it. Cherry was standing in the front entrance with a wine bottle in her hand.

"If it's Goldie or Dyna, tell them I'm not home yet," she said. "I don't want to talk to anyone tonight…"

Russel answered the phone while maintaining eye contact with Cherry. "Hello?"

"It's me again," Jimmy's voice came through loud and clear. "I can't express how much I need you for my band. Your talent and skill will go down in music history. I promise I'll take care of everything. You won't regret it, Russel."

He was quiet for a few seconds.

"Um, you there Russel? Just give me an answer…"

"Sorry, Mink. She's not home right now," Russel replied.

"'Cuse me? She's…at work, isn't she?" It soon clicked with the man over the phone. "Oh, she's right there, isn't she…?"

"Yeah, Mink. She probably stopped by another pub to get a drink. Why don't you try again in the morning, yeah?"

Cherry sighed, "He's probably worried sick about me. Just let him down gently." She walked pass him and disappeared into the living room.

"I'm sorry," Jimmy apologized, "Should I just hang up?"

"Take care, man and stay safe," Russel then hung up the phone.

After the bottle was emptied, the arguing started on a high note. It slowly grew into something bigger and horrible. Stupid remarks and old grudges mixed with alcohol which turned into a sick exchange of pointless accusations. Russel knew this feeling too well. It was the first time they argued. But it was surely the last…

Cherry gestured to the living room around them. "Just look at the state of this place! It's a complete mess! Listen, I know you're with Coco all day but it's not like she's still a baby. She's six mouths already! You need to organize you day a bit better and get things done. You became a househusband for a reason."

"Cherry, I'm doing all I can!" Russel yelled back, "I stay at home because you wanted to continue singing!"

She nodded her head, skeptical. "Okay, doing all you can. You obviously care about your wife coming home after a hard day of work." She faked a gasp and looked around the room, "But wait! Where's dinner?" then placed her hands on her wide hips. "Oh, let me guess. You didn't make it because you were too busy changing nappies, playing, and washing."

Her condescending tone of voice was getting on his nerves. "Of course I was, Cherry," Russel said, "You're not going to guilt trip me about it. If you spent time with our daughter, you would know how important these things are!"

Cherry's face twisted into a snarl. "I gave birth to her! Of course I know these things!"

"Then act like a mother for once! So, pardon me, that there is no dinner for the hard-working wife. She can cook for herself from now on! Because, you know what," Russel pointed to himself, "This househusband is working just as hard and he's really tired of this shit!"

Cherry took a step closer to the larger man and said in a quiet voice, "He better get used to it, 'cause this is just the start. There's going to be some changes around here." She shouted, "I'm fed up of being pushed around by you! I make the money around here and I pay the bills! I deserve respect!"

"I'm done talking, Cherry," Russel said dismissively.

"Sure you are," she spat, "That's what you always do. You run out of arguments. You stop talking to me then you lock yourself in the bathroom for hours. I'm tired of repeating the same old thing over and over again!"

"Then why won't you give me a break for once in your life? You're acting like I've done something terrible! I don't even know what your deal is! Is there something you're not telling me, Cherry?"

Cherry paused again, folded her arms, and adverted her gaze to the side. "You know if you would just listen to me…" Soon, the woman was in his face. "But you never listen to me, do you! Not a single word I have ever said!"

Russel snorted and shifted his weight on his feet. "Right, with this shit again. It's not you, it's the wine talking. I shouldn't be taking any of this seriously. I know by tomorrow you'll be apologizing to me."

"It was just a couple of glasses and you has some too! I'm not drunk! I wish I was," Cherry said with a frown. "Maybe then I could laugh at this shitty life and not care so much."

He chuckled, "That's fresh. You really care so much. Cherry, you should get a medal for that."

She raised a brow. "I thought you said you weren't going to talk to me no more. You're so full of shit, Russel! Full! Of! Shit!"

If he had hair on his head, he would be pulling it by now. But he kept his cool and let out an exasperated sigh. "Cherry, you're drunk. Get off my case, alright? Look, I understand you had a very bad day but it's not my fault that the bomb went off and the car got damaged. You really need to calm down now. I'm sure we can sort everything out. We always do!"

"Well, that's what you think…"

"Yeah?" said Russel. "And what do you think, Cherry?"

She seemed offended. "What do I think? So it matters all of a sudden what I think. Well, I'll tell you. Sure. I think you're lazy, Russel. You do nothing all day, while I keep working my ass off to provide for this family. I think you're trying to shift responsibility on me, like you always do. I think you use Coco as an excuse for everything."

"And I think you're being a complete asshole," Russel concluded. "How dare you accuse me of such things?"

"It only takes one look at the flat to see it's all true,"

"Let me go," he said. "I got to check up on Coco now. The window is open in her room. She might catch a cold." Russel pushed pass the woman and made his way towards his daughter's bedroom door.

"That's right. Just walk away." Cherry said to his back. "That's all you do, Russel. You never finish anything!"

"If there's one thing I don't want to finish, it's this stupid conversation," he said, "Now let stop this before we both do or say something we'll regret."

Cherry stopped him outside Coco's closed room door. "Why not? Are you afraid that I actually might be right? Are you scared of facing the truth? I'm sure Coco is fine. It's the hottest summer we've had in years. It'll be good for her to have some fresh air in there, won't you agree?"

"I…I guess…" he said, defeated.

The arguing did not stop at that point. It exploded into a shouting match where both adults were in each other's faces. Neither of them didn't even notice that a storm had started outside. He was so absorbed in that stupid fight that he forgot about the open window. None of them knew that the pollen from the lilies next to Coco's bed would could an allergic reaction. The wind blew the pollen all over the baby, which caused her to start choking and gasping for air. Several long minutes passed, and Coco slowly expired from a rare pollen allergy. It was quiet in the room which was framed by yelling and the howling winds.

The memory ended there, and the world return to Russel and Noodle bounded in the bathtub.

"When we found her, she was already dead," he said. He recalled how cold and stiff she was when he picked her up. His hands trembled underneath the layers of duct tape. Russel held back tears as he continued, "After two days of what seemed like a narcotic dream, Cherry had gone out and never came back. They found her a week later. She drank herself dead in the woods. Barely recognized her when I had to identify her at the morgue since it was the hottest summer by record. She looked…bad." Remembering his wife's bloated body that laid upon the cold table of the morgue caused something to crack in Russel's head.

The hardened exterior he had built up for ten years finally crumbled and he cried. They were mournful tear that never fell when he lost Cherry and Coco. He had never cried for them, not even at the funeral. Not once had he told anyone about his wife of daughter, until now. Russel hid his face as the tears kept rolling down his cheeks. Noodle shouldn't see him like this. He tried slinking away but the bathtub was only but so large.

"Mister Hobbs, I…" Noodle said, and she scooted closer. She placed her duct taped hands on his shoulder. "Thank you for telling me that. Now I understand. I understand why you're sad all the time."

As her sentence faded into silence, the intruder grabbed Noodle from behind and started to drag her out of the tub. The woman let out a scream and she thrashed about in his grasp. Russel never noticed that he even entered the room. Though the man was much older than he was a decade ago, Russel recognized him now.

"Jimmy…" he hissed through his teeth.

"Let me go!" Noodle shouted while she continued to struggle. She was silenced when he stuck a piece of duct tape over her mouth. Her muffled yells could barely be heard through the tape. Jimmy threw Noodle to the floor and dragged her out of the room by her jacket.

"Leave her alone!" Russel shouted as he managed to crawl himself out of the bathtub and fell to the floor with a heavy thud. "Take me instead!" he yelled but received no answer to his pled. The passing minutes and painful silence were agony to him. That man could be doing anything he wanted to Noodle and Russel was immobilized on the floor. He hated that he couldn't protect her when she needed him.

Jimmy returned to the bathroom with Noodle nowhere to be found. Anger ran hot through Russel at the mere sight of the man. "You!" Russel got to his knees and glared at him with intense eyes. "If you did anything to my friend, there won't be a place in Hell for you."

Jimmy pulled a knife out from his pocket and Russel froze completely. He was going to stab him to death while his hands and legs bound; a coward's way to kill someone. Russel braced himself for the worst but the feeling of sharp, cold metal piercing his skin along with the pain never came. Instead, Jimmy used the knife to cut through Russel's binds and returned it to his back pocket. Russel got to his feet immediately and took a step forward towards Jimmy. He was going to beat his guy's ass to another country before finding Noodle and making sure she was safe. But before he could put his plan into action, Jimmy pulled the pistol out on him. Russel raised his hands, not wanting to get a bullet to the head again. Jimmy got behind him and jabbed his back with the pistol's barrel; a universal gesture for him to get moving. As order moved out of the bathroom and into the living room. What he saw shocked him.

Noodle stood upon a stool with her body encased in duct tape. A rope noose tied to the lighting fixture was wrapped around the woman's neck. Lightning flashed from the storm raging outside, illuminating Noodle's struggling body.

"You sick son of a bitch," Russel growled. He took a step towards Noodle before having the gun's barrel poke him in the back again. He looked over his shoulder at Jimmy and said, "What do you want me to do?!"

The intruder kept the gun connected to his body as he led Russel over to his grand piano. "I want to hear your sweet music one last time," Jimmy said in a raspy voice. "You always had a way of working with any instrument."

"Fine," Russel said through a clenched jaw. He took a seat in front of the piano and his hands hovered over its keys. "You want music. I'll give you music!" His fingers crashed against the ivory keys as he let his anger lead his heavyweight hands. He played a haunting melody that filled the room and trickled out through the open living room window. Tension grew as angry yowling could be heard from the outside world. The noise drew closer and closer until his living room began to fill with stray cats in the area, entering from the window. Katsu jumped upon the dining table; his dark eyes observed intensely as the other cats approached Jimmy slowly.

"What the bloody hell is going on?!" Jimmy yelled. He pointed his pistol at the cats but one of the felines leapt onto the man. Jimmy struggled to get the cat off his face and tripped over another cat, losing his balance. The back of his hand collided with the curved wooden edge of the piano, leaving blood and clumps of hair behind. Jimmy collapsed to the floor and the cat descended on the man's body. Russel could only watch in silence as the cats, his cats, began devouring the intruder.

With all her struggling, Noodle lost her balance, knocking over the stood underneath her. The noose pulled tight around her neck from her weight. She started to choke through the duct tape, kicking her legs in search of stable footing. Russel rushed over and lifted the woman up, causing the noose to go lax. He managed to untie the noose from her neck and cut the duct tape with Jimmy's knife. Once freed, Noodle and Russel walked over to Jimmy's unmoving body.

"They…they're eating him…" Noodle could only gasp out a statement. "Is this…I…"

"Don't look, Noodle," Russel said as he turned her away from the gruesome scene. "Just…don't look."


End file.
